Riding the Tiger
by Snarkymuch
Summary: This is the short story about mental illness, forgiveness, and finding a way to start again. Tony has bipolar and PTSD, and he's struggling under weight of the changes around him and the illness within him. Med compliance isn't easy. It's amazing the weight pills can hold. Bucky/Tony/Steve don't read if it bothers you.
1. Chapter 1

_They were coming back._

Tony paced the workshop of the compound, fingers knotted in his hair, trying to fight the feeling of overwhelming panic—his mind racing. This was supposed to be a good thing. It was closure—or some crap like that—at least according to his therapist. Maybe he shouldn't have fired her. He could use a little advice about now.

Everything was finally fitting into place. Tony had spent the better part of the last year working with Rhodey and Pepper on repairing the damage done through their so-called civil war. Pepper had run a stellar PR campaign while Rhodey stood by him for support. Vision didn't stick around, taking off after Wanda. They were somewhere in Europe the last he heard. It was fine though because he and Rhodey handled it.

Together they'd fought the UN Council to amend the Accords, fought to pardon his ex-teammates, Tony even fought at the hearing to clear Bucky's name. To be honest, he wasn't sure why he did all he did. It was going above and beyond. He wondered if it was his way of forgiving—showing the world he held no hard feelings.

But now reality was sinking in. _They were coming back_.

Helping them had been one thing, but somewhere in his planning, he'd failed to foresee the eventual outcome. If all went according to plan, which it had, they were going to need a home, somewhere that the council deemed appropriate. It seemed logical to all those involved that they'd come back to the compound, and Tony had even agreed despite the way the idea sent a shiver of down his spine.

_They were coming back. _The words taunted him.

His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to breathe through the reality of the situation. He growled as he swept his arm across his workstation in frustration, sending bits and pieces of metal and tools across the room. He stumbled back into the counter and then slid down to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself. What had he thought when he agreed to let them come back?

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to drown out the noise in his head, his mind flashing memories of things he wished he could forget. He twisted his fingers in his hair, pulling at it painfully. He closed his eyes and rested his head back, mind racing. He didn't know how long he sat there, chasing his thoughts.

"Boss, you have an incoming call from Ms. Potts. Would you like me to put her through?"

Tony dragged a hand over his face. He blinked in the too-bright light of the workshop. His tailbone aching from sitting on the hard tile too long. "Pepper?"

"Yes, Boss," his AI spoke. "She is inquiring about your wellbeing."

Tony sighed, waving a hand. "Yeah, patch her through."

He climbed to his feet, knees popping as he pushed himself up. The room spun a little as he adjusted to the new position. Like it could read his mind, Dum-E whirled and grabbed a granola bar, wheeling over to him. He rolled his eyes but took the offering, giving the bot a pat on the head. It didn't say much for his ability to manage self-care when he had to rely on a robot to feed him. He knew hadn't been eating much lately, and apparently, it showed.

"Tony," Pepper said. "It's been days. You were supposed to call and check in with me. You do know the pharmacy calls me, right? You're due for a refill for two of your meds. Wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Not really," Tony sighed. It wasn't that he had meant to stop, but it had just become overwhelming somehow. Once he'd missed a few, it became easier to miss more, and then before he knew it, he was free of the things entirely. "I'll send happy to pick them up. It's fine. I'll get back on track. Promise, Pep."

"You can't do this, Tony." She sighed. "You know what happens when you go off them."

He shrugged, glad that Pepper couldn't see him doing it. He hated that he needed medication. Tony hated how it numbed him, muted his mind. He liked the chaos more than the apathy that they provided. He knew it was a gamble to go off. You never knew how high you'd go or how hard you'd fall, but at least for a little while, you felt alive. It was a rush he didn't think anyone else could understand. The medication stole his personality, or at least that's how it felt. The doctor was always telling him he just needed to find the right combination, get stable, and then he'd feel better—normal even—but who said he wanted that?

"You don't get it. You don't understand."

"Tony," she said softly. "I know you don't like them, but you need them."

"I know. I get it. I said I would take them," he said sharply, regretting the harsh tone immediately. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I just haven't been getting much sleep. It's not your fault."

"It's okay. Just please don't forget Dr. Cho is coming to give you your injection tomorrow. I know you hate it, but it's at least one medication I know you're getting."

Tony knew all too well he was due for his injection—an atypical antipsychotic. It had been explained to him in detail. He needed it every thirty days. It was supposed to balance his moods, help quiet his mind. It did help, but it also gave him a sore lump on his ass cheek for a week and sucked the life out of him for days after. Part of him wanted to just go grab one of his suits and disappear—say screw it all—but he couldn't. The team was coming home, and he needed to be there—he needed to show them he wasn't afraid.

"Tony?" Pepper prompted. "You still there?"

"Yeah, Pep," Tony said. "Just got a lot on my mind. I can't believe they're coming back, you know? It's finally over."

"You did a good job," she said. "But are you sure you're up for seeing them? I can make other arrangements. If the council likes it or not, this is still your home, and you don't need to be uncomfortable in it."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." He tried to believe his own words, but he knew deep down he wasn't ready. He'd wanted to forgive them all, wanting closure, but he wasn't sure how successful he'd been. Before firing his last therapist, they'd spent time working through the benefits of accepting your own actions and forgiving others for theirs. Some days it felt like he had managed to let the past go, but others, he could still feel the shield cutting into his chest. No one ever said forgiveness was easy.

Pepper sighed. "I know you're not fine, but I also know I can't change your mind when you dig your heels in, so please, _for me_, take your meds and get some rest, okay?"

"I'll try."

"Thank you. Now go lay down. You know how important sleep is for you."

Tony found himself yawning at that. "Alright, maybe I'll take a nap. Talk to you later, Pep."

"Night, hun."

He hated admitting that Pepper was right, but he hadn't been sleeping—not like he should. When he slept, the nightmares would start, and their grip was unbreakable. On the worst nights, he'd find himself frozen in the bed while his mind replayed the worst moments of his life unable to pull himself free. From Afghanistan to Siberia, his mind would never relent. It was easier to stay awake. It was easier than remembering the past he wanted to forget.

Taking his medications was another story. Logically, he knew he should take them, but doing so sometimes seemed harder than building the Iron Man armor back in the cave. The pills would just sit in his palm as he held them, feeling like they weighed a hundred pounds. There were ones to help him sleep, ones for his anxiety, mood stabilizers, and of course, he couldn't forget the shot that left him sore for days. It was ten levels of awful, and at times, he just didn't want to deal. He'd just quit, cold turkey, migraine-inducing withdrawals and all, sending himself spiraling into mania or depression.

The only people who knew the extent of his issues were Happy, Pepper, Rhodey, and Dr. Cho. He'd managed to keep anyone else from knowing. Thankfully most people just chalked it up to his eccentric personality as they called it, and he wasn't going to correct them. It was easier that way.

Sighing, he left his workshop and headed back to his room. He wandered over to his dresser and opened it, cringing at the sight. It was a mix of various prescription bottles—some old and long expired, some with a few left, some were nearly full because he hadn't been taking them, and in the corner of the drawer was a daily pill sorter that sat empty. It had been a present from Pepper to help him stay organized and keep him on track, but he hated taking the time to fill it, so it was rarely used.

He was already feeling overwhelmed. He wanted to just shut the drawer and go back to his workshop, but he'd promised Pepper he'd try, so there he was. He dug around in the drawer looking for the bottle of Depakote—one of the more obnoxious pills just because of its size. They were supposed to keep his mood levels and mania controlled, but they made him feel numb and screwed with his appetite. He hated them, but he knew that he was walking a fine line. He knew somewhere inside him that Pepper was right. He was already beginning to feel his mood changing. He was starting to crash and burn.

He found the offending pills and swallowed them dry, then dug around for his sleeping pills. He had plenty of them left since he hadn't been taking them. He took two despite only being prescribed one. He didn't care. He was just hoping it would knock him out enough that he didn't dream. He really needed some sleep. His mind had been chaotic for weeks, and now he was feeling burnt out—like he wanted to build a blanket fort and not come out. The world felt too big and a bit too much to face. The thought of the teams impending arrival was creeping back into his mind, but he did his best to push it down. He didn't want to think about it, not yet.

He toed off his shoes and walked over to the bed, not bothering to strip.

"Friday, have Happy grab my scripts tomorrow," he said. "And make sure I'm up in time for the good Dr. Cho. Don't want to miss out on my shot."

"I'll make sure you're awake with enough time to shower, Boss."

"Thanks, girl," he said, flopping down on the bed. "Night, night."

"Sweet dreams, sir," his AI replied.

His dreams weren't sweet, though. Despite his hope for a dreamless sleep, he had nightmares. Scene after scene played out in front of him in all too much detail. He was back in Afghanistan, being waterboarded, beaten, and whipped. It was so sharp and real, and he couldn't escape. He was trapped. His heart began to pound in his chest, shirt soaked with sweat. He knew this nightmare all too well—where it was heading. He tried to wake up. He knew what was about to happen. He cried out into the darkness of his room as he fought off the attackers that were long since gone, twisting and tangling in the sheets.

He awoke with a start, feeling nauseous. His hand went to his shoulder, covering the small scar that lay there. It had felt so real. He cursed himself for not being able to put it behind him. It had been years, and yet there he was, still letting it get to him. It seemed some demons you couldn't outrun.

Not wanting to risk another nightmare, he figured he might as well get up and start the day. It was still dark, but technically morning, just early morning. He got in the shower feeling hungover from the sleeping pills. He was quick, not a big fan of water after the nightmares he'd had. He got dressed in sweats and an oversized MIT hoodie and glanced at the dresser where his pills were. He was supposed to take Depakote twice a day. Granted, this was a little early to take them, but better now than not at all, so sighing, he walked over and dug around for the bottle. He found it and took two out, tossing them in his mouth and swallowing them down.

He padded his way through the empty halls to the kitchen. He lived mostly alone. Rhodey would come by here and there, but he stayed busy at the Pentagon. He did make sure to stop by and check on him though, so did Pepper. Especially after his last depressive episode. He felt a stab of guilt and regret thinking about it and rubbed at his arm absentmindedly.

He walked over to the cupboards, opening them up and digging around, not finding much to eat except some oatmeal and fruit—probably courtesy of Pepper. She was always looking out for him.

The task of cooking oatmeal seemed tedious and overwhelming in his state of mind, but he'd learned his lesson about taking medication on an empty stomach after nearly developing an ulcer in the past—something Pepper and Rhodey both scolded him for like a child.

He grabbed the oatmeal packet and stared at the directions like they were written in a foreign language. He was too tired for this. He wanted to go curl up and just forget for a while, but instead, he dumped the packet in a bowl, splashed what he hoped was the right amount of milk in, and tossed it in the microwave. He leaned against the counter as he waited for it to beep. When it finally did, he took it out and looked at the overcooked mush. He had no energy to cook something else, so he grabbed a spoon and forced it down. Finished, he tossed the bowl in the sink with a mental note to wash it later.

He turned from the kitchen and began his way towards the common room to await Dr. Cho when Friday's voice announced something he wasn't expecting.

"Boss, the team has arrived."

"I'm sorry, Fri," he said, stopping mid-step. "Come again?"

"The team has arrived, sir," Friday responded.

Tony ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck."

"I'm sorry, Boss, but they are making their way inside now. Would you like me to send them to their quarters?"

"No, it's fine. I got this. Thanks."

His heart began to hammer in his chest, and he pressed a palm to the scar that Steve's shield had left behind. Nope. This was a bad idea. What had he been thinking, letting them come here? He firmly put this into the column of Tony's Worst Ideas. He couldn't handle this. He needed to breathe.

"Boss, I think it would help if you slowed your breathing," Friday said.

Right. Breathing. He could do that.

In.

Out.

And repeat.

Nope. Not helping.

There was the sound of footsteps and chatter approaching. He had to pull himself together. He drew another deep breath and let it out slowly. He wasn't even presentable. He was in sweats and a hoodie, hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes, thin from not eating—not how he wanted to be seen for the first time in so long.

He didn't have a choice, though, because when he looked up from his mini panic attack, he was met with the stares of his old team. At a glance, he could see Clint in the back with Natasha, Sam to the right, and Steve and Bucky in the front—two sets of blue eyes locked on his. It felt like too much.

Just keep breathing, he reminded himself. The last thing he needed was a full-fledged panic attack.

Any smiles they had when they walked in seemed to slip from their faces upon seeing him. He couldn't help the sick feeling in his stomach. He looked away, running a hand through his hair. He drew another shaky breath and then looked back up, plastering on the best media smile he could afford.

"Welcome, back," Tony said. "Your rooms are all in the west wing. I did some renovations, hopefully for the better. Sorry, the kitchen's not really stocked. I'll take care of it, though. If there's anything special you want, just ask Friday. She'll make sure you get it. Anyway, I've got some projects to work on, so make yourself at home."

He went to turn and make his way toward his workshop, but of course, Steve couldn't just let him leave without making things awkward.

"Tony, are you alright?" Steve asked, eyes locked on him.

Tony flashed him a smile. "Just fine, Cap."

"Boss, Dr. Cho is here for you," Friday said.

"Shit," Tony cursed, stepping back and away from them. "Send her to my workshop. I'll be right there."

Steve went to say something more, to step forward, but before he could, Bucky grabbed Steve's arm and pulled him back. "Let him go, Steve. Now's not the time."

Tony never thought he would be thankful toward Bucky until that moment. Without another word, he escaped down the hall to meet Dr. Cho.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony sat on the couch in his workshop as he watched Dr. Cho prepare his injection.

"So, I know med compliance has been an issue for you. How are you doing with it?"

Tony debated whether to be honest or not. He wasn't doing great, but he had taken them before bed and again that morning, so he shrugged. "I've taken them."

"I spoke to Pepper, Tony," she said softly. "I know you haven't been on them for a while now. This injection is probably the only thing keeping you remotely level. Is there a reason you don't want to take them?"

Tony thought for a moment. "I don't like being drugged, and sometimes it's like I start feeling better, and I don't feel like I need them anymore."

She nodded like it made perfect sense as she put on gloves. "How's therapy going?"

Tony suddenly found his nails very interesting. "I … uh … kinda fired her."

Helen sighed. "Tony, you don't just have bipolar to deal with, you have PTSD as well. You can't deal with this alone."

"I'm not alone," he argued. "I have people. I'm fine."

"You know, most people who say they're fine, usually aren't. I'm concerned. A therapist could not only help you with your PTSD but also help you come to terms with your bipolar."

"Can we just not talk about this?" Tony asked. "Just give me my shot and let me feel like crap for the next week."

She leaned back against the table. "I know you don't like the injection, but we need to give it time. If in a few more months you still have side effects, we'll try something else. Your habit of noncompliance has led to injections being the only real option here, Tony. It's narrowed the field a lot."

He knew she was right, though he was loathed to admit it. He'd brought this on himself.

"Alright, it's ready," she said, holding the syringe.

Tony sighed but pushed himself up from the couch and walked over to the table, leaning against it.

"You know, if you relax, it won't hurt as much." He could practically hear the smile in her voice.

"It's an inch and half long needle," Tony replied. "It's gonna hurt either way."

She hummed as she tugged the hem of his sweats and boxers down enough to expose his hip, and then after a quick swipe of an alcohol pad, she stabbed in the needle. Tony held his breath, tensing the whole time. He hated needles.

"There. All done," Helen said, putting a band-aid over the spot.

Tony tugged his pants back up and turned to face her. "Thanks."

She smiled weakly. "I know you're going through a stressful time right now. It can't be easy, so I would like to ask Friday to track your habits for me again like we did before. I want to stay ahead of any possible problems. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah, sure, why not," he sighed. "Friday, you heard the lady. Initiate Missing Marbles protocol."

"Protocol initiated, Boss."

"Alright, Tony," Dr. Cho said. "I think I've bothered you enough for one day. I'll be in touch, though, and Tony, you're not alone—not anymore. If you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out. You don't need to suffer." She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'll see you soon. Call if you need anything."

He nodded and watched her walk out of the room.

He already had knot forming from the shot. She'd stabbed higher than usual, practically on his hip. The hem of his sweats rode perfectly on the spot, irritating it even more. It was going to be a long month.

xXx

Bucky watched as Dr. Cho slipped out of the building. He was curious about why Tony needed a doctor. Was he sick? Bucky didn't like to think that something was wrong with the man who T'Challa had said actively tried to clear his name. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around why Tony had wanted to help him at all. After what he'd done, _after what Winter had done_, the last person Bucky ever thought who would want to help him would be Tony Stark, yet against all his assumptions, the man proved him wrong. He had given Bucky another chance—a chance some would say he didn't deserve.

He heard footsteps coming up behind him. He didn't need to look to know they belonged to Steve; he had a familiar stride and certain weight to his step Bucky would recognize anywhere.

"The doctor leaving?" Steve asked, slipping an arm around his waist.

Bucky nodded, leaning into Steve's side. "What do you think she wants with Tony?"

"Maybe they're working on a project together," Steve suggested.

Bucky considered that for a minute. He supposed Steve could be right, but the way the engineer looked, the frailness to him when they arrived, told Bucky otherwise. He looked like a breeze could blow him over. It was strange, but he was worried about the man that he'd barely met.

"Maybe," Bucky replied, turning to look at Steve. "But you think if he were sick, he'd say something to us, right?"

Steve drew a breath, then sighed. "Honestly, I doubt it. Tony's never been one to let people take care of him, even when he needed it. I think he prefers to handle things alone, so don't worry about it. I'm sure he's fine. You don't know him like I do. You'll get used to it."

"With everything he's done for us, even after we what we did to him, leaving him there in the bunker, I feel like we owe him more," Bucky said. "I owe him more. If it weren't for him, I would probably be locked up on the raft."

Steve leaned in, pressing a kiss to Bucky's temple.

"It's just … I know it isn't going to be easy, but I think we need to fix this. Something's wrong, Steve. I feel it."

Steve sighed. "You're right. We came here to make things right. We all did. Tell you what. I'll try talking to him."

Bucky leaned in, kissing him. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," Steve said, running a hand up and down Bucky's back. "Tony and I need to talk anyway. We didn't exactly leave things on great terms. I don't like having bad blood between us."

He nodded and gave Steve a weak smile. "That's all I'm asking. I'm gonna hit the gym. You wanna come?"

"No, I'm gonna go make sure the others are settled," Steve said. "Then maybe go down and check on Tony. Ma always told me not to hide from my problems—might as well test the waters."

xXx

Steve walked down to the workshop. Reaching out, he tried the door, but it was locked.

"Friday?" Steve asked.

"Afternoon, Captain Rogers," the AI spoke. "What can I assist you with?"

"I came to speak with Tony, but his workshop's locked. Any chance you could help me out with that?"

"I'm afraid not, Captain," she replied. "He has initiated a lockdown."

"What? Why?" Steve asked. "Is he okay?"

"He is in no immediate danger and is being monitored. That's all I'm at liberty to say."

Steve sighed. "Is he sick? Is that why the doctor was here?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. I suggest you speak to him directly."

Steve didn't like the sound of that at all. It gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Thinking back on what Bucky had said, Tony hadn't looked well. He looked thinner, and his skin was paler. Tony looked worn out—run down. Tony always kept a neat appearance, but this morning his hair was a mess, his clothes were too big, and the way he looked at them all … Steve swore he saw a flash of fear in his eyes. It hurt him to think Tony was afraid of them—of anyone. He was always so strong.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there in thought before the door to the workshop opened.

He looked up and saw Tony standing with his hands tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. The room was a disaster. There were tools, scraps of metal, and parts scattered across the floor. There were coffee cups upon coffee cups sitting everywhere, and his bots were whirring around, pushing the debris across the floor. The man standing in front of him looked like a stranger—only a shade of the man he once knew.


	3. Chapter 3

"Boss, Captain Rogers is outside the door inquiring about your wellbeing."

Tony sighed. He was feeling a little dizzy, maybe it was from the shot, or maybe it was from not eating enough and the lack of sleep—probably all of it. Listing off the reasons made him feel even more like a mess.

"Don't tell him anything," Tony said. "Just give me a minute to think."

He'd put the workshop in lockdown earlier because he didn't want to face them. Seeing them had sent him into a tailspin. He felt like he was losing control. He didn't know what he was expecting to happen, bringing them all back together. Maybe he thought it would fix things, that facing them—_facing Steve_—would give him some peace, but this didn't feel like peace. His anxiety was reaching new heights.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "Let him in, Fri," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

The door opened, and Tony looked up. Steve had his thumbs hooked in his pockets, and his shoulders were turned in like he was trying to look smaller, less intimidating. It wasn't working.

"Hey." Steve smiled. "Can we talk?"

Tony shrugged, looking to the floor and nudging a piece of metal with his foot. He was tired and didn't have the strength for an argument. "There's nothing to talk about. You're cleared of charges, even Bucky. I saw to it myself."

"I wanted to talk about us."

"You want to talk about us?" he asked. "What we had—or almost had—is gone. You picked. You got what you wanted. I don't need your pity or whatever the hell you're here for now."

The anger he'd long forgotten came boiling back to the surface.

"I'm sorry, Tony." Steve took a step closer, making Tony's heart hammer in his chest. He could feel the shield cutting into him again. It hurt to breathe.

"If you were sorry, you wouldn't have left me to die! You would have told me about my parents—not let me get blindsided by some psycho!"

Steve's posture straightened, looking more commanding. "If you're this angry, why did you help us then? Why did you help Bucky? No one asked you to!" Steve's hands were clenched in fists and Tony couldn't help but flinch as he remembered the fight in the Siberia.

And then his chest tightened, and his breaths began coming in pants. Not now, he cursed himself. He didn't need to fall apart—not in front of him. Tony tried to slow his breathing, but his chest hurt—the scar from Steve's shield hurt. He pressed a hand to it, wanting the memories to stop.

"This isn't what I came to see you for. I'm sorry. I don't want to fight." Steve was talking, but the words weren't sinking in. He was losing control—everything catching up to him at once.

He stumbled over to the couch, sitting down too quickly and yelping when the lump from his shot hit the cushion too hard. His hand went to his hip, and he hissed. He could feel the heat from the swelling through his sweats.

Steve walked over to him and crouched down, reaching out, but it only caused Tony to flinch back.

"I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have come," Steve said. "I'll pack my things. I don't want to hurt you anymore. I don't want to do this."

"No!" Tony said snapped, finding his voice. "You don't have to go!" Damn, his own emotions were giving him whiplash. He wanted to keep him there as much as he wanted to push him away. "I just need time to adjust. I've got a lot on my plate right now—nothing to do with you guys."

Steve looked down. "Honestly, Tony, why'd you help us?"

Tony ran a hand through his hair. "Because you guys deserved more than to be fugitives, and after I had time to think and talk to T'Challa, I realized that the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were two different people. I didn't have a right to hate an innocent man."

Tony sighed, shifting, so his hip wasn't pressed on the couch, hand going to touch the spot.

Steve noticed, glancing to where Tony was holding his hip.

"Are you hurt?" Steve asked. "I'm no Banner, but maybe I can help."

"I'm fine," Tony lied. "It's nothing."

The soldier raised a brow, studying him. Tony felt himself shift under the weight of his scrutiny. He could tell Steve wasn't buying his lie, but he sure as hell wasn't going to tell him the truth.

The silence was broken by Steve's sighing. "I mean it when I say thank you for everything. I'm sorry for what happened between us. I never meant to hurt you."

Tony waved him off. "No problem. You're forgiven."

"You don't mean that."

"I do so just drop it." Tony's tone was hard. "It's water under the bridge and all that crap."

"Okay." Steve sighed. "Will you at least tell me what's wrong? Even Bucky noticed something isn't right, and he barely knows you."

Tony shrugged. "Like I said, I'm fine. Now if you don't mind, I'm gonna take a nap, so feel free to see yourself out."

Tony could see the hurt flash over Steve's face. He hated being cold to him. His heart ached, pushing him away. They'd been so close before, walking the line of friendship and relationship—leaning heavily toward relationship—but now Steve had Bucky. The ex-assassin was the jelly to Steve's peanut butter. They were stupidly perfect for each other.

Steve stood. "You need anything before I go?"

Tony sighed. He kinda did, though he was loathed to admit it. He was feeling shitty and sore, and the ice packs were all the way across the room in the mini-fridge.

"Could you grab an ice pack from the freezer for me?" Tony asked.

Steve looked at him, concerned. "If you're not hurt, why do you need one?"

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. "Never mind. I'll get it. Just go."

"No," the soldier said. "Stay. I'll get it. Just promise me you're alright."

"I'm fine, just a little sore."

Steve nodded but walked past the debris on the floor to the fridge and pulled an ice pack from the freezer. He walked back over to Tony, handing it to him.

"Thanks," Tony said, yawning and then placing it on his hip. It immediately felt better.

Steve studied him for a minute and then ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. "I'll let you rest. We ordered out if you are interested. Should be here soon."

Tony just shook his head and curled into the couch, too tired to care what he looked like. He closed his eyes and listened for Steve to leave. He heard his steps grow distant and fade, and then he drifted off to sleep.

Tony awoke a few hours later, his ice pack warm and hip sore. He really should have relaxed like the doctor suggested, probably wouldn't hurt half as bad. Tossing the ice pack onto the couch, Tony pushed himself up to sit. He slipped his hand under the waistband of his sweats and felt for the spot the injection had been. He cringed when he felt how big the knot was and how painful it was to touch.

He stood and stretched, then walked over to the coffee maker. He grabbed one of the cleaner looking cups and poured himself a coffee. It was barely lukewarm, but he drank it anyway. He felt foggy and tired. He missed the manic energy he'd had not long ago. He'd gone from flying high and not needing sleep, inventing at all hours, to whatever the hell this was, this zombie-like state. It didn't seem fair.

He'd gone years before with no meds, back in his twenties when he got himself into a lot of trouble, but after Afghanistan, things had changed. He gave up drinking, he saw a psychiatrist again, went into therapy—did all the right things. He was doing damn well too, but then came wormholes, Ultron, and then Siberia piling on top of his already messed up mind. He lost JARVIS. He lost his friends. He lost everything and fell into a deep depression. He quit his meds, wanting to feel something again, but it only made his depression worse, and he ended up trying to take his life—slicing open his arm from wrist to elbow.

After Pepper found him, bleeding out, he was admitted to a private facility and got back on medication. His moods settled out, and he was okay. Tony was able to gather himself and fight for his team, to amend the Accords. He did it all, but then somehow things just started slipping again. They always did.

He started missing doses here and there, started losing sleep. He stopped eating because his stomach always felt like it was in a knot—food just didn't settle right. He got weaker and lost weight. Pepper and Rhodey started picking up on something being wrong. He was ranting and making little sense. They threatened hospitalization if he didn't begin complying. It was then that Dr. Cho decided that an injectable might be a good fit—leading him to his current cocktail of meds. They worked when he took them, but he still struggled to do it. There was always an excuse on the tip of his tongue—a reason he could put off taking them for another day.

He downed the last dregs of his coffee. It was bitter and cold. He glanced at his watch. It was later than he thought. Nearly six o'clock. He'd slept most of the day, yet he still felt exhausted.

He grabbed another ice pack and turned to head upstairs to his room, wanting to forget everything, to forget that look on Steve's face when he'd cut into him. Part of him wished that things weren't so beyond repair, but he knew they were. Even if they could find common ground, Steve had Bucky now, and he didn't need a broken mechanic with more secrets than truths. He was a mess of scars and crazy thoughts. Tony wasn't worth the effort. He didn't deserve it. He was used goods, broken and tarnished.

When he got to the main hallway, he could hear the team talking in the common room. He could smell the food. His stomach hurt a little from hunger, but he wasn't ready to face them. Steve had been enough for one day.

He slipped down the side corridor, making sure not to draw attention to himself when he literally bumped into the muscular wall of Bucky's chest. His heart began to race—his instincts telling him to run.

"Sorry," Tony sputtered, stepping around him. His gaze flicked up, connecting with Bucky's for a moment. How had he missed how blue his eyes were before? They reminded him of Steve's but maybe darker. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Are you hurt?" Bucky asked, gesturing to the ice pack.

Tony wasn't sure what to say. He had never really spoken to Bucky before.

"Yeah, just bumped into a table," Tony lied. "No biggie. It'll be fine in a few days."

Bucky tilted his head. "You're a bad liar."

Tony shifted, uncertain. "Right," he said. "I've gotta go, so yeah. Why don't you run off and join the rest of the Scooby Gang for dinner?"

Bucky's brows knit in confusion.

"Never mind. I forget the things you've missed out on." Tony shook his head. "Anyway, go eat. I'll see you around."

"Wait," Bucky said, stopping his escape. "I was planning on talking to you later, but I guess now's as good a time as any. I just wanted to thank you—for everything. You gave me another chance. You didn't have to, but you did."

Tony put up his hand to stop him. "Don't. Really. It wasn't your fault, and as for what happened in Siberia … I'm sorry. It was just a shock, too much all at once and I lost control. It was my fault—"

"No! It wasn't your fault," Bucky said, shaking his head. "Anyone would have reacted the same way."

The cold from the ice pack was stinging his hand, keeping him grounded. He focused on it, centering himself.

"Look, no use crying over spilt milk," Tony said. "It happened, and we can't change it, so just make yourself at home. If you need anything, just ask Friday."

Bucky nodded. "Thank you."

"Like I said," he said. "It's all good. Go grab some food and visit with Steve and your friends. God knows how much you super soldiers need to eat." He chuckled dryly.

A frown tugged at the corners of Bucky's mouth. "They're your friends, too."

Thankfully, before he needed to respond, Friday spoke up.

"Sir," Friday said. "Mr. Hogan has dropped off the items you requested. They are in your room."

"Thanks, Fri," Tony replied. "Good talking to you, but I gotta go. See you around."

He didn't wait for a response. He just brushed by Bucky and headed toward his room. He felt an overwhelming need to escape. He had grown accustomed to being alone. He wasn't used to casual chit chat.

Once he was safely in his room, he relaxed, his breaths coming easier. He glanced over at his dresser. There was a small paper bag sitting on top. He walked over and picked it up, glancing inside—his prescriptions. He groaned and pulled open the drawer. He grabbed what he needed and stuffed them into the bag—not forgetting to grab the pill sorter.

Begrudgingly, he trudged over to the bed and tossed it all down. He took the ice pack and tucked it under his waistband where he'd gotten the injection. Carefully, he settled down onto the bed and dumped out the contents of the bag.

He popped open all the compartments of the pill sorter and then went about the tedious task of divvying everything out. It looked like a box of sad, rejected skittles by the time he was done, all ugly pinks, blues, and whites. He clicked all the compartments closed, satisfied he was done for the next week.

He gathered up his mess and dumped it all back into the dresser drawer, careful not to knock around the sorter too hard. He'd accidentally knocked it open before and spilled the contents in a giant mess—not something he wanted to repeat.

He walked back over to the bed and laid down, an ice pack on his ass. He groaned into the pillows. The coffee wasn't settling well in his stomach, but he couldn't very well sneak to the kitchen without everyone seeing him.

He ignored his stomach and closed his eyes, letting himself fall asleep. Thankfully he didn't dream—or if he did—he didn't remember it.

What felt like all too soon, Friday's voice was waking him up. He groaned, cursing at his AI.

"Sorry, Boss, but as per protocol, I'm required to wake you to take your medication. Also, your caloric intake is far too low for a male your age. I recommend you eat, or I will need to make a note for Dr. Cho."

Tony rubbed his eyes. "Traitor."

"Should I remind you who programmed me?"

He grumbled. "What time is it?"

"It's 11:32p.m."

His head was pounding. "Ugh. Where is everyone?" He didn't want to leave his room if it meant facing them.

"Everyone but Captain Rogers has retired to their quarters."

"Great, and where is the good Captain?"

"He's in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa."

Tony rolled his eyes. That was so Steve.

He rolled out of bed and grabbed the pill sorter from the drawer, popping open the compartment he needed. He dumped them into his hand and stuffed the sorter back inside. He could swallow them dry, but he had quite a few pills to take at night, and he hated when they got stuck in his throat.

Grasping the pills tightly in his hand, he walked out of his room and toward the kitchen. It was dark; the lights of the compound were all dimmed just enough to see. As he rounded the corner though, he saw that the kitchen was well lit, and just like Friday had said, Steve was there at the counter, a cup of hot cocoa in his hand, reading a book.

He must have heard Tony coming because he glanced over his shoulder at him. Tony gripped the pills tighter like it would somehow help hide them—hide how broken he was.

"Rogers," Tony said as he walked casually to the fridge. He got himself a bottle of water, twisting off the cap. He took a sip and then turned, walking quickly back towards his room.

"Tony, wait," Steve called after him. "I'm sorry."

Tony froze for a moment. His heart clenching in his chest. He swallowed and turned to look at Steve. He looked tired, the kind of tired that wasn't fixed by sleep. Tony felt bad for him. He knew that feeling all too well.

"Stop saying that. I'm past apologizes. Look, I think we should just stay away from each other," Tony found himself saying. "It's not like this place isn't big enough to avoid each other." He set his water down on the counter.

"What if I don't want to stay away from you?" Steve's tone wasn't his usual. It was softer—timider. "Maybe I like being around you."

Steve's words make something ache in Tony—bringing back feelings he'd tried hard to bury, to suffocate. He had to remind himself that Steve wasn't his—he never really was.

"Don't." Tony shook his head, putting up a hand. "Just don't, okay? It's better this way. You don't understand. I'm not good for you—hell, I'm not good for anyone. I was selfish before. I thought … It doesn't matter. I won't make that mistake again. Just stay away from me."

"Jesus, Tony," Steve said, setting his cup down. He got up and walked toward him. "Where is this coming from?"

Tony bit at his lip, shaking his head. Nope. He didn't want to have this conversation.

"Talk to me," Steve pleaded.

"It's nothing. Just drop it." His chest felt tight, and he pressed his hand to the scar from Steve's shield again, remembering the weight of it as it dug into him. "I just need some sleep. I need to breathe," he said as his heart began to pound. He needed to just take his medication and go bed.

"What's wrong?" Steve looked so fucking concerned it hurt. He shouldn't look that way because of him. "Why was Dr. Cho here?"

"None of your business," he snapped, running his hand through his hair. "You don't have a right to worry about me."

He pushed past Steve, grabbing his abandoned water and popping the pills into his mouth, washing them down quickly with a few gulps. He pressed the cold bottle to his temple, trying to soothe the growing headache behind his eyes. He jumped when he felt a hand touch his back.

"Tony, are you sick?" Steve's voice was softer than he could ever remember it being. It just made that feeling that he wanted to forget grow brighter, louder, and he hated that he couldn't control it. It fucking hurt.

"I can't do this," Tony said. "Go to Bucky. He's probably waiting up for you. Just leave me alone."

He expected his words to push the man away, but they didn't. The hand on his back stayed like a gentle weight. It seemed to root his feet in place, keeping him from escaping.

"Just because I have Bucky," Steve said. "Doesn't mean I don't care about you."

Tony shook his head. "You shouldn't. Hate me, anything, but don't care. It would make everything so much easier on everyone if you didn't bother."

The hand on his back seemed moved to his shoulder. "You can't make me stop caring about you."

"That's where you're wrong, Captain. If you knew half of how messed I really was, you'd run for the fucking hills."

"Try me," Steve challenged.

Tony stared him down, gritting his teeth. "Maybe some other time." The fight was beginning to leave him as the Valium kicked in. "I need to get to bed."

He went to walk out of the kitchen, but Friday was quick to speak.

"Boss, as per current protocol, I need to remind you to eat, or it will be noted and reported."

Steve looked at Tony. "What does that mean?"

"It means my AI has no tact or timing," Tony said. "And is also a _huge_ tattletale."

"The current protocol was enacted for your own health and—"

"Mute," Tony snapped. "Before you ask, I'm fine. Friday's being dramatic—the apple didn't fall far from the tree there. Anyway, I'm going to bed."

He went to leave the kitchen, but a very large, and slightly intimidating, super soldier stepped into his path. "What did Friday mean, your health and what, safety? And don't think I missed you taking that handful of pills, then there are the ice packs. What's going on? We have a right to know as your team, your friends, if you're sick or hurt."

"Trust me. It's not that important. It's nothing new. I'm just usually better at hiding it." Tony rubbed his eyes. "The people who need to know, do. Now let me go to bed. I'm tired."

"I want to know," Steve said softly. "I want to help. Just let me make you something to eat. I don't know what's going on, but Friday said you needed to eat, so I'm not leaving you alone until you do."

His stomach ached, his head hurt, his ass cheek was throbbing, and even though he wanted to argue, he felt like shit, so he found himself nodding and climbing onto one the stools at the counter.

"Anything you want in particular? There's eggs," Steve said, opening the fridge.

"That's fine," Tony replied, resting his head on the cool marble countertop, hoping it would soothe the ache.

He listened to Steve puttering away as he cooked. He'd started drifting off when a plate was nudged against his arm.

"Eat up."

Tony groaned and stretched, wincing when he shifted wrong and the chair pushed against the sore lump. Maybe next time he'd opt for the arm.

"You okay? Seems painful." Steve was leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

Tony picked up his fork and poked at the pile scrambled eggs. "Little sore."

Steve nodded. "You wanna tell me about it."

"Not really." He wanted to though. He wished he could. He missed people—despite the fact he spent most of his energy pushing them away.

Tony pushed the eggs around the plate. Nothing seemed to have flavor. It wasn't Steve's cooking. It was just him. He felt numb.

"They'll taste better warm," Steve said. "Push them around all you want, but I am not leaving you until I see you eat some."

Tony sighed. He didn't know what black hole he'd fallen into, but this was pretty messed up. He didn't expect to have Steve cooking him eggs at nearly midnight and hovering like a mother hen.

He took a small bite, chewed, and then swallowed mechanically, repeating until they were mostly gone, then pushed his plate away. His stomach felt a little better. He was dizzy, though. The meds were meant to be taken close to bedtime as they knocked him out.

"Thanks," Tony said, blinking tiredly. He was feeling out of it. "I'm gonna go to bed. You should, too."

He pushed himself from the stool, grabbing the counter to steady himself. He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness hit him. He heard Steve walk closer, and then a hand was on his shoulder.

"Come on, let me help you get to bed."

If Tony had felt better, less like he was gonna greet the floor face first, he might have had protested or pulled away, but at that moment, he only wanted the room to stop spinning. Steve's strong arm slipped around him, pulling him against his solid body. He kept him steady as they walked.

"I don't know what's going on with you," Steve said. "But I'm not leaving you to handle whatever this is alone. I'm here for you, Tony, whether you like it or not. We all are."

Tony opened his mouth to argue but decided against it. Instead, he let the larger man guide him to his bedroom. Tony wouldn't admit it aloud, but he liked the closeness. It had been a long time since he was close to anyone. He missed feeling the warmth of another person. He missed Steve.

He just grumbled when Steve gently nudged him down into the bed. Giving in, he crawled under the covers and tried to not think how pathetic he must look. He didn't even hear Steve leave before he fell asleep.

Tony awoke the next morning to someone shaking him by the shoulder. His head was pounding, and he felt hungover.

"Come on, Tones," the voice said. "Time to wake up."

He knew that voice. It took him a minute, but he pried his eyes open and blinked wearily at the man sitting beside him on the bed.

"Hey, Rhodey Bear." Tony cleared his throat. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I've been a good boy, promise, scout's honor."

"Did you forget that you initiated the Marbles Protocol? Pepper and I both get notified when that happens. What's going on, Tones? Talk to me."

Tony sighed. A lot was going on, but nothing that he wanted to talk to anyone about. "I'm not going to off myself if that's what you're worried about. My tank's just running a bit low."

Rhodey nodded. "I spoke to Dr. Cho. She's concerned. She said you've lost weight again. You're off your meds."

Tony raised a finger to object. "Was," he said. "I started them back up."

Rhodey nodded. "You know what I think? I think having the team back might be too much for you right now."

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. It was too early for this shit. He shifted, getting himself propped up against the headboard. "It's not their fault. It's just me, Rhodey," Tony said. "The meds make me feel like shit, and the team only knows the fake me—the medicated me. They don't know what a fucking mess I am. I just so tired—tired of everything."

"Tony," Rhodey said. "The medication doesn't make you someone else. They help you from getting like this, getting depressed. Is that why you keep going off them?"

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, that and sometimes I'll start feeling better and I feel I don't need them anymore, and maybe sometimes I miss the mania. I know. You don't need to lecture me. Mania is not my friend."

Rhodey let out a breath. "So, how are things going with the team being back?"

"I don't know," Tony said. "Weird. Steve and Bucky already seem to notice something's up."

"Have you thought about opening up to the team a little?"

"Are you serious?" Tony snapped. "They would never look at me the same way if they knew."

"It was just a suggestion. We both know they're nosey fuckers, and if you're gonna have them here long term, I think you should talk to them. There's nothing wrong with having a mental illness—not something to be ashamed about."

"Could you just stop that?" Tony asked. "Stop saying it like that—stop saying I have something wrong with me!"

"There's nothing wrong being bipolar or having PTSD," Rhodey said. "Why does it bother you so much to hear?"

Tony looked away. He knew exactly why it bothered him. His father had beaten it into him—that it wasn't okay to be sick. It was a weakness—something he needed to hide at all costs.

"Tones?"

He looked to Rhodey. "It was Howard. He made it clear with his fists that Stark men aren't like that—Stark men aren't weak."

"Shit, Tony." Rhodey ran a hand over his face. "I knew he had some rough edges, but I didn't realize. You got to know how wrong he was. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know in a way, but then at the same time, I can still hear him in my head. It's fucked up. I'm fucked up. What can I say?"

"Say you'll stop calling yourself fucked up. Say you'll try to see the good in yourself," Rhodey said. "You are really hard on yourself. You need to stop thinking you are alone in this."

Tony huffed. "Yeah, I'll work on it. Now, can I get out of bed?"

Rhodey chuckled. "Let's go."

Tony sighed and climbed from the bed. He should take a shower, but he felt like shit, and it sounded like way too many steps. He didn't even bother looking at himself in the mirror.

"Come on, Tones," Rhodey said. "Grab your meds and let's go get some food into you. You look like a walking skeleton. It's no wonder Dr. Cho wanted tabs on you."

Tony grumbled his annoyance but did as he was told. He put them in the pocket of his hoodie and followed Rhodey toward the kitchen.

The team was thankfully nowhere to be seen. Tony walked to the coffee maker and grabbed a cup, pouring himself a coffee. He reached in his pocket, grabbing the pills and downing them quickly with the hot liquid.

"Do I need to make you something, or can you find something on your own?" Rhodey asked.

"I'm not a child." Tony walked over to the cupboard and dug around. There was more food. Someone must have gone shopping. He found a box of cereal and grabbed it, then snatched a bowl from the cabinet. He shook it into his bowl, making a mess on the counter but not really caring. He still felt tired—like an endless tired that no sleep could fix. He grabbed the milk and sloshed it in. Fishing a spoon from the drawer, he went to the breakfast bar to eat.

The lump from the injection made itself known when he sat. He winced.

"The injections still hurting?" Rhodey asked.

Tony just nodded. "Cho said if it keeps happening, then we get to try something else."

Rhodey sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't need pity—brought it on myself."

Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible."

"I try." Tony smirked.

Footsteps grew closer, and Tony looked up, glancing back over his shoulder. He tensed. Steve and Bucky were walking toward him with Clint trailing behind. Perfect.

Tony went to get up, to escape, but Rhodey wasn't letting it happen. He moved to Tony's side and put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from standing.

"Hey guys, how was training?" Rhodey asked as Tony curled his shoulders in, trying to disappear in his oversized hoodie.

"Great," Clint said. "It's good to be home." The archer took a seat a few down from him. "No offense, Stark, but you look like shit." Clint frowned at him. "Aren't those the same clothes you were in yesterday?"

The sarcastic, witty Tony was still on vacation somewhere in his mind, so he just shrugged and went back to eating. He tried to hide the tremors in his hands, but his spoon still shook. He could feel Hawkeye watching him.

"Thanks for the arrows, and you know, for everything else," Clint said. "Didn't get much of a chance to say anything to you when we first got back. You kinda took off."

He knew Clint was trying to edge him into a conversation, but Tony didn't want to talk. It was nothing against the archer. He just didn't want to talk to anyone. Needing to put some distance between himself and the reminders of the past, he pushed his bowl of cereal away and rubbed his eyes.

"Glad you liked the arrows," he said, getting up. "You guys must be hungry from training, so I'm gonna get out of the way." He looked to Rhodey. "I assume you'll be staying for a few days."

Rhodey nodded, sipping his coffee. "You know it."

Tony got up and walked over to the fridge, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer. He wasn't feeling inventive, and the idea of going to the workshop and facing the mess he'd created there was depressing, so he turned and padded back towards his bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky watched Tony walk away with the icepack, and he felt a pang of hurt. The man was suffering, something was wrong, and he was doing a crappy job of hiding it. After everything they had all been through, Bucky wished he could help Tony somehow. He knew Steve felt the same way. Tony and Steve had been so close before. It wasn't something Steve hid from him. He knew they had shared a connection—not unlike the one he had with Steve. Bucky knew that what went down in Siberia had damaged things, but it shocked him to see how much. The spark he remembered seeing in Tony's eye was gone, even the anger he expected seemed off. It looked like a piece of him was missing. Guilt settled over him at the thought of the role he played in the change of the man.

Sighing, he walked up to the breakfast bar, looking around the room quickly before taking a seat. Old habits of searching for threats died hard. He grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, turning it in his hands as he thought. He still couldn't get the image of Tony's empty eyes from his mind.

Steve walked up beside him, his arms crossed over his chest. Steve shifted, so he was looking at Rhodey. "You know something, don't you? About what's going on with Tony."

He watched as Rhodey sipped his coffee. "Oh, I know, but I ain't telling."

Bucky's head cocked to the side a bit. "So, something is wrong with him. He's sick."

Rhodey sighed, setting down his coffee. "I'll just say there is more to Tony than you know."

Clint shifted, fiddling with an apple. "Is it serious?"

"Look, guys, I know you care, but it's not my place. He isn't nosing around your business—stay out of his," Rhodey said.

"You're deflecting," Steve said.

"No, I am honoring my friend's privacy," Rhodey said firmly. "Look, if you want to help him, just try to be his friend. He needs that right now. Invite him to eat with you guys. He might say no but make the offer anyway."

Steve sighed. "He'll be alright, won't he?"

Rhodey rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah, I think. He's been dealing with this for a long time, but he's got me and Pepper to help him through it."

Bucky felt like there was a heavy stone in his stomach. Even though he barely knew the man, he felt connected to him. Whatever was wrong, it sounded concerning. He tossed the banana back it the bowl and scratched at the scruff on his face.

"And I might as well warn you," Rhodey continued. "He's probably going to sleep a lot the next few days—nothing to worry about. I'm not leaving until he's more himself."

Bucky could remember when Steve was a kid and always sick. He had fragments of memories of taking care of him—layering blanket after blanket over him trying to keep the chill off him in the cold winters. Bucky, despite what HYDRA tried to make him, was by nature a nurturer. Steve was, too, really. It made it hard knowing someone they both cared about was sick and hurting, and there was nothing that they could do about it.

Bucky rubbed at the shadow of a beard on his jaw. "So, is there anything else we can do—other than inviting him to eat with us?"

Rhodey sighed. "Friday's currently watching him and reporting back to me and his doctor, but if he seems off, more than usual, let me or Pepper know."

"He seemed pretty off when he was just here," Clint said. "He didn't call me birdbrain, or even an asshole—which I deserve. It's like his spark is gone. I've never seen him so … _numb_. And then there's the fact he looks like shit. He's so thin, and I never thought I'd see the day that Tony Stark wore the same clothes twice."

Bucky didn't like what he was hearing. He wished he'd met the man before—seen him happy. He wished there was a way to make him happy again. He deserved it after helping them like he had. He looked like he'd aged twenty years in the short time since he'd seen him last.

"We can do that," Bucky said, glancing at Steve and then Clint. "We'll keep an eye on him. Least we can do for what he's done for us."

"Thanks, guys," Rhodey said. "I've got to head to the boardroom. I have a teleconference to attend since I am staying here for a while. Even though the Accords are fixed, Ross is still a pain in my ass."

Rhodey reached out and grabbed the cereal bowl Tony had left half-eaten, dumping it out and setting it in the sink. "I'll try to get to dishes later. Don't bug Tony about it."

Bucky nodded, remembering the way Tony's hands had shook as he tried to eat. He hadn't eaten much of his cereal before leaving. Maybe he should make him something in a while and bring it up to him or maybe Steve or someone else should. Bucky still wasn't very sure how Tony felt about him. He said he'd forgiven him, that it wasn't his fault, but that didn't mean being around him was easy. The last thing Bucky wanted to do was to make Tony feel uncomfortable.

"I'll take care of the dishes," Bucky offered, getting up and walking over to the sink, turning on the water and grabbing a sponge. "It's no problem."

"Thanks, man," Rhodey said, checking his watch. "Alright, I'm out of here for the meeting. If anything comes up, just have Friday get me."

Bucky looked over his shoulder to see Steve taking a seat beside Clint. They both appeared lost in thought. He decided not to bother them and instead went about washing what was in the sink.

Dishes washed, Bucky turned to see his friends still sitting quietly. "So, what now?"

Clint picked his head up, shrugging. "I can't stop thinking about Tony and how bad he looks right now. I was ready for a lot of things coming back—him being mad, fights breaking out. I bet Sam we'd be out in a week. It's like he's someone else entirely."

"Yeah." Steve ran his fingers through his hair. "He isn't the same. The old Tony wouldn't back down. Now he just seems resigned to let whatever happens, happen. And you should see his workshop. He used to take some pride in that place. It's a disaster now—debris everywhere. Must have over twenty coffee cups littering the counters and floor. There's no way he's able to work in there like that."

Clint leaned his elbows on the counter, resting his head on his hands, his expression thoughtful. "I know this might be a stretch, but I was thinking, do you think this is some kind of mental thing—like depression or something. I just mean after everything we put him through. It makes sense he might be a bit messed up in the head."

Steve's brows knit together. "I probably shouldn't say anything, but I ran into him last night down here. I don't think he wanted me to see him do it, he was pretty agitated, but I saw him taking some pills. I don't know what they were for, but they really knocked him out. I had to help him to bed."

Bucky's brows pinched together. "What do you mean, agitated? You didn't fight with him, did you?"

Steve drew a breath, shaking his head. "We just got talking. Things got a little tense. He told me I shouldn't care—to just hate him instead."

Bucky walked over to Steve, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Honestly, he's got a right to be angry about things, but I think you know that. It doesn't mean he'll be angry forever, though." Bucky gave his shoulder a squeeze. "We'll figure something out."

Clint threw his apple core into the trash. "Want my opinion? I think we do what Rhodes said—try to offer support, don't be a threat. I think we all had a lot of time to think over how we screwed things up while we were holed up in Wakanda. It's obviously messed with Tony more than we know. We don't know the details of what went on to make him like this, but Rhodey and Pepper do, so I think we need to defer to them on how to handle it."

Bucky agreed. There was a lot they didn't know. "Anyone else notice the hip thing?"

Steve sighed. "If you're referring to the constant supply of ice packs, then yes."

"He's favoring his leg," Clint said. "I'm sure it all ties in somehow but I don't see anyone willing to fill us in, so …"

Light footsteps were approaching, and they all looked up as Natasha strolled in. "Why the glum faces?"

Clint grabbed an apple and tossed it to Natasha, who polished it on her shirt. "We were just talking about Tony."

She nodded and hummed. "If you're talking about how terrible he looks, I agree. He doesn't seem like the same Stark from before the fight. This whole place has a different vibe, and I caught a glimpse of him heading back to his room earlier. He was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't bothered to shower."

"We just tried interrogating Rhodes about him," Clint said. "But didn't get much. We think maybe he's depressed or something."

"He might be." Natasha took a bite of her apple, chewing it slowly as she thought. "Though I never saw a mention of mental illness in his file other than PTSD, it could be something new."

Clint shook his head. "Not from the way Rhodes was talking. He made it sound like Tony's always had this going on, and we just never saw it until now."

"Tony's a master at keeping up a mask," Natasha said. "I hate to say it because I'm just as guilty as any of you, but we never did try to get too close to him. We accepted his false front. We let him keep us at a distance. Maybe it's time to change that."

Her words hit home with Bucky. He knew what it was like to pretend you're okay when you're not. There were some days that he would put on a good face for Steve—not wanting to drag him down with his own demons. He wondered if Natasha was right. If all Tony's bravado had been just a front and he was hurting underneath.

Bucky's head picked up as he heard the distant sound of a door opening and closing, followed by the sound of footsteps making their way down the hall. He walked out of the kitchen area and peered around the corner. Tony was trying to slip by, heading for his workshop. He looked the same as he did before, disheveled, looking worn and frail. Bucky couldn't believe that this was the man he'd fought in Siberia. There was no life in him now. He seemed hollow. His eyes looked dead as they glanced over to meet his. Tony didn't hold his gaze long, though. He quickly looked to the floor and scurried away. Bucky watched the way Tony walked. He was definitely favoring his hip.

He watched him until he disappeared and then returned his focus to the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

After Tony's encounter with everyone in the kitchen, he headed back to his room, plopping down on his bed and putting the ice pack on his hip. Last month, it had taken nearly a week for the swelling to go down. He felt flushed and a little dizzy still, but he knew that would go away soon. It always took a bit to readjust to the meds after he quit them. Feeling the way he did now, he wished he hadn't stopped in the first place. It was like falling off the wagon and having to start over at day one. It felt like he was standing at the bottom of a mountain looking up at the climb ahead. It took so long to reach the point of therapeutic levels. It wasn't fair, but he only had himself to blame.

He felt tired but not at the same time. He felt antsy and agitated yet sleepy and ready for bed. He wanted to collapse, but his mind wouldn't stop. He wished he could sleep without the risk of nightmares, if just for a break from the stress around him. Having everyone back under one roof was hard. He knew his team was incredibly perceptive, and by now, they had probably noticed he wasn't entirely his old self, having instead been replaced by the icepack loving zombie he'd become.

Honestly, it was pretty much some kind of miracle that he never had an episode like this before when they'd lived together. Even with meds, he cycled a few times a year. Most had come to believe that the eccentric, crazy, no sleep needing Tony was the real man. It wasn't though. When he was like that, it was usually an episode of mania to some degree, and when he crashed after the high, he would just hide away in his workshop until it passed—people assuming he was just productive. It was rare that he couldn't manage things, but after Siberia, he had fallen deep, so deep he'd tried slicing his wrist—the scar of which still stood bright on his left arm.

Truthfully, he thought he'd been doing better, but now looking back, Tony could see how he'd been slipping, cracking from lack of sleep, withering from the lack of nutrients because he couldn't stomach food—eating felt like a waste of time some days. He'd been going and going, but part of him knew that what goes up, must come down, and now he was crashing hard.

He pulled a pillow from beside him and stuffed it under his head. He sighed, closing his eyes and hoping to get some kind of rest—even if it wasn't real sleep. His mind wouldn't shut up, though, supplying a million and one scenarios about how his old team would react to finding out the truth about him. He thought of their pitying looks and their faux concern. He cringed as he thought of Steve and how he would probably try apologizing like it was somehow his fault.

"Friday, can you call Pepper's personal for me," he asked, rolling onto his back.

"Of course, Boss," Friday replied.

A moment later, Pepper's voice came over the speaker. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't panic. I just"—Tony struggled for what he wanted to say—"I don't know. I guess I was just feeling alone and wanted to hear a friendly voice."

"You know you can always talk to me, Tony, but isn't Rhodey there?" she asked.

"Yeah, he's here." Tony rubbed his eyes. "I talked to him earlier. He thinks I should tell the team."

"Oh, wow. That's a big step. Are you thinking of doing it?"

"I don't know. The more I think about it, the more stressed I get. I doubt they'll ever trust me in the field again if they know the truth."

"Stop. You're getting ahead of yourself," Pepper said. "You know I'm not their biggest fan, but I'd like to think they're better than that. They used to be your friends." He heard her sigh. "Maybe Rhodey is right. It might not hurt to open up a little, and if it does go wrong, they'll have me to face."

Tony sighed. "I don't know. I'll think about it. It's just everything is a mess. I'm starting to crash, and I can't seem to pull myself together." He paused. "They're already noticing something's off about me."

"No matter what happens, it's gonna be okay."

"It's not, though. They look at me like I'm gonna fall apart, and honestly, I can't blame them," Tony said. "I look like shit. I haven't showered. I haven't even changed in two days. I feel like everything is just too much to deal with. I can't even seem to put on a happy face and fake it this time."

"Tony." Her voice was gentle yet firm. "You're stressing yourself out—making this a bigger deal than it has to be. It doesn't matter what they think, and it's okay to have bad days. The only thing you need to do right now is to take care of yourself. I know you hate putting yourself first, but that's what you need to do right now. It doesn't make you weak."

It didn't feel that way, though. He could still remember Howard, shouting at him to snap out of it and be a man. He could remember him shouting that he was a freak and didn't deserve the Stark name.

"I just feel so tired, Pep." Tony sighed. "I want to sleep the world away. I hate feeling like this."

"I promise, Tony. It won't last forever. If you want, I can call Dr. Cho and let her know how you're feeling. Maybe you need a little med adjustment."

Tony closed his eyes. His throat felt tight. He wanted to cry. He didn't want more medications. That was the first thing everyone said. Have you taken your meds? Maybe you need an adjustment.

"Tony, talk to me. Don't be upset."

"I'm fine." He closed his eyes. "Call Cho. It's fine."

"Good," she said. "Now why don't you take a nap or go tinker in your shop. It might help you feel better."

Tony drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I guess I can go clean up my mess."

"Don't forget to take a break for lunch, okay?"

"Don't worry about it," Tony said. "Friday's making sure I behave. She'll tattle if I don't."

He heard her sigh. "I'm sorry, Tony. I know you don't like being watched, but we, _I_, can't lose you. Knowing Friday is watching helps me sleep at night, and it's not forever. It's just until you start to feel a little better."

Tony made a noncommittal noise. "I'll talk to you later, Pep," he said, pushing up from the bed. "I'm going to go clean the workshop."

He slipped out of his room and headed toward his shop. He felt like someone was watching him, and when he glanced over, he saw Bucky. Their eyes locked for a moment. The soldier was staring at him. Tony quickly looked away and ducked his head, hurrying down the hall.

He slipped inside the door to his workshop and surveyed the damage he'd done. It was still a mess, but his bots had tried their best to clean up. He walked over to where most of the nuts and bolts were strewn across the floor. He lowered himself down to sit, stretching his legs out in front of him and began sorting the odds and ends, making little piles by sizes and types. He found their containers and got them all back where they went.

He drew up his knees and leaned against the cabinet. His mind was filled with gruesome thoughts. Intrusive thoughts, his former therapist had labeled them. He tried to ignore them, but they were vivid and persistent—flashes of things he wished to forget, things he didn't want to do but his mind showed him anyway. Horrific things that made him feel wrong for thinking. He pulled his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie and curled into himself. He knew it would be pointless to try and pull up schematics to try and work on anything meaningful. His mind wouldn't let him. He was trapped in his head by his own unique brand of crazy.

He buried his face in his knees and tried to stop himself from crying.

There was a knock on the workshop door.

"Who is it, Fri?"

"It's Captain Rogers, sir."

He sighed, wondering what he had done in a past life to deserve the shit that kept getting shoveled his way. He didn't want to see Steve. The man was a reminder of what almost could have been, of what he wished he could still have. Looking at him sent simultaneous pangs of loss and fear through him. It was such a twisted feeling—to want something but fear it at the same time. Steve wasn't his to want, though. He had Bucky now, and he needed to remember that. When the shield had dug into his chest, Steve made his choice, and it wasn't him. He had to find a way to be okay with that.

"Hang on," he said, pushing himself to his feet, grimacing at the stabbing pain in his hip. Once he was standing, he spoke. "Alright, let him in."

Steve stepped inside, his hands in his pockets. His gaze flitted over Tony, assessing. "Though I'd come down and invite you up for lunch. The team ordered Thai, but I can make you something else if you want."

He didn't get Steve. He didn't understand what the soldier wanted from him. Why couldn't he just leave him alone? Unable to hold his gaze, Tony looked away. "I'm fine. I had a late breakfast."

"You barely finished it." Steve's mouth turned down in a frown.

Tony crossed his arms. "What, you're keeping track of my meals now, too?"

"Tony, it isn't like that, and you know it." Steve sounded tired. "I didn't come to fight. We all haven't had a chance to hang out since we got back. It seemed like a chance to kill two birds with one stone."

"I'm not hungry," he said. "Go hang out with the team. I'll be fine."

"You're part of the team, too," Steve said, his voice soft. "I just wish there was a way I could get you to believe it."

He scoffed. "You're better off without me. I don't come recommended."

"Can you just stop that, putting yourself down? Sure, you have some personality quirks, which one of us doesn't? But we want you around. We came back to try and make things right. We know we made mistakes. I know I did," Steve said. He was looking at him with too much concern, his eyes too soft, and it irked him. He didn't need sympathy or whatever it was Steve was trying to shove his way. "We want to do the right thing here—_I want to do the right thing_."

"Always the boy scout."

Steve sighed, head shaking. His voice was quiet when he spoke next. "We talked to Rhodey this morning after you left."

Tony's head snapped up, and he felt his blood run cold.

Steve must have noticed his panic because he was quick to speak again. "Don't worry, he didn't say much. Just that you could use some friends right now. Don't be too mad at him. He was only trying to help."

Tony clenched his jaw. He didn't like being discussed. He didn't need pity. "I think we're done here." He left no room for argument. He was finished with the conversation. He just wanted to be left alone.

Steve let a breath, shaking his head. "Come on, Tony. Don't be like that. Come eat at least. I know you must be hungry. You barely touched your cereal."

"Why do you care?" Tony snapped, maybe a bit too harshly. He could see the way his words hurt Steve, causing him to flinch back, but part of him didn't care. The pain and loss were still too fresh. "I told you not to bother."

"I care because you're important to me, and I'm not going to stop. Leaving you in the bunker, hurting you, I wish every day that I could take it back. We all screwed up. We made mistakes. I know you say it's fine now, but it's not. I've seen the fear in your eyes. You're not fooling anyone."

Tony cringed back from his words. Subconsciously, he brought a hand up to the scar on his chest and pressed against it, feeling the spot the shield cut, remembering the pain. It felt like everything was starting to close in, his vision getting dark around the edges. It was like he could feel the shield slamming into him all over again. He tried to settle his nerves, to keep breathing. He was not going to fall apart in front of Steve—he needed to be stronger than that.

"Why do you do that?" Steve asked, pulling him from his attempts to calm himself.

Tony snapped his gaze to him. "What?"

Steve gestured to where Tony was pressing a hand to his chest. "That, holding your chest. Does it hurt?"

Tony dropped his hand, flexing it at his side. He swallowed dryly. "Just a habit. It's nothing."

Steve frowned. "It's not nothing, though, is it? That's where my … That's where my shield ..."

Tony drew a breath, running a hand through his hair. He needed space. Why was his workshop so small? Why couldn't he breathe? He began to pace, counting his steps—anything to distract himself.

"It is, isn't it? I really hurt you."

Tony turned to face him. "Yeah, so what? You want a gold star for figuring it out?"

"Tony, please—"

"Don't you have food to go eat or something? Have people waiting for you?"

Steve sighed, looking defeated. "I can say I'm sorry a thousand times, and it'll still mean nothing, but just give me a chance to prove to you I care—that we all care. Let us, _let me_, show you."

Tony didn't know what to say. He was so fucking tired, and to make his life worse, there was a war raging inside him. Part of him wanted to rage at Steve, hurt him like he'd been hurt, make him feel his pain, but another missed their friendship, missed what almost had been, craving the comfort that used to be there. Fighting him took so much strength, made him feel so much worse. It took energy he didn't have. He knew he was playing with fire, letting himself crave what they had. It wasn't going to end well for him if he did, yet he found himself wanting to believe it could happen—that something could be salvaged.

He took a breath to steady himself, staring into Steve's eyes. "You want the truth?"

Steve nodded. "Of course, I do."

A part of him was screaming to turn heel and run, to stop before he made a mistake that would change everything, but another part of him was just so exhausted from it all. If he told Steve the truth, maybe he'd get it—maybe he'd understand that he wasn't worth it. Maybe it would scare him away enough that he would leave him alone and he wouldn't have to look at him anymore—save him from the constant reminder of what he didn't have. Or maybe, just maybe, it could be a beginning.

"I don't know where to start," Tony said, taking a breath. "I've thought this over a thousand times, and I still don't know how to say it—put it into words that make sense."

Steve nodded. "Sometimes it's easier to just let yourself talk—try not to overthink it too much."

Tony rubbed at the scar on his chest, looking anywhere but at Steve. He couldn't look into his eyes right now. "I'm a mess. I'm screwed up—more than the average person. I have _issues_. I don't know how to say it. This is stupid." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Tony, look at me," Steve said firmly. Tony glanced up. The soldier's face was open and understanding. He didn't feel like he deserved it. "It's gonna be okay."

He felt like he should back out—stop himself before he said too much. It was a bad idea, and he knew it. He had always played his cards close to his chest for a reason. It kept him safe. Revealing them to Steve had the potential to break him.

He swallowed, his mouth dry. "I'm fucked up, alright? I have this _thing_." He averted his gaze, feeling shame wash over him. "People always joke about how crazy I am, but no one knows how true it is. My head's a scary place. There are times I don't even understand myself."

"What are you saying?"

Tony laughed; it held no warmth. "I'm saying that I need to take pills every day and I get a shot once a month just to keep me from flying myself straight into the ocean or becoming so manic I start thinking I'm the messiah."

He glanced back at Steve—not sure what he expected to see. The man was just standing there, just fucking standing there, looking at him like someone had just shot a puppy two feet in front of him. Tony couldn't look at him. It was too much. Whatever Steve was thinking, he didn't want to know. This was why he never wanted to tell people. He didn't want to face their reactions.

After a minute, Steve finally seemed to break from his thoughts as his brows pinched together. "Does it have a name? What you have?"

Tony hated saying it. It made his stomach twist. He knew he shouldn't feel ashamed of something beyond his control, but it was built into him by his father—it was in his coding.

"Bipolar," Tony said just above a whisper. "With an extra helping of PTSD on the side."

Steve nodded. "So, this bipolar is why you—"

"Look like shit?" Tony guessed, interrupting him. "Yeah, pretty much. I have episodes—some easier to hide than others. I got sloppy with my meds, and now I'm paying the price. Things are kind of rough at the moment."

Steve looked thoughtful. "Are you back on them now, the medication? Are those the pills I saw you taking?"

"Yeah, and that's why Dr. Cho was here," Tony said. "The shot she gave me helps quiet my mind and settle my moods. It also leaves a huge welt and makes me tired as hell for days. She's got Friday watching me, making sure I take them, making sure I eat, reporting back to her. They don't trust me when I get depressed. I don't blame them after what I did."

Apparently, he was experiencing a case of verbal diarrhea because he was spilling all his secrets in rapid succession. Something about the way Steve seemed to genuinely care had made him lower his guard.

"What did you do?"

Tony sighed. "Something impulsive and stupid—something I should have never done. It hurt the people I care about."

Steve closed his eyes, drawing a breath. He opened them to meet his gaze. The man looked so fucking hurt—so devastated, and it was Tony's fault. Steve wasn't stupid. He was very perceptive. He knew what Tony had done, and it was only confirmed when he spoke. "You tried to take your life, didn't you?"

He looked away, the shame of what he'd done too much. He didn't want to see Steve's reaction. He knew what kind of person it made him. He felt tears brimming in his eyes, and when he blinked, they fell, rolling down his cheeks. He didn't want to fall apart, yet there he was doing just that.

The silence was all the confirmation Steve needed to decide his next move. The man took the two steps forward until he was fully in Tony's personal space and then wrapped his arms around him in a hug. It was unexpected, awkward, and caught Tony off guard. He stiffened at the contact. He hadn't been that close to Steve in over a year. He could smell the man's aftershave, and he would be lying if he said it didn't hurt a little to be so close. It was bittersweet, bringing back memories of how they used to be.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Steve said, pulling back and studying his face. "Why didn't you reach out?"

"Because what was I going to say?" Tony took a step back, putting space between them. "Things changed. For all I knew, you would have told me to cut deeper."

He knew he'd gone too far as soon as he said it. Steve sucked in a breath like he'd been punched in the gut. "Jesus, Tony! How could you say that? Is that really what you think? That I wouldn't care?"

Tony scoffed. "You made it pretty clear when you drove your shield into my chest."

Steve shook his head. "I never meant—"

"Don't," Tony said. "I don't need to hear it. You chose who you wanted, and it wasn't me. I had no reason to call you. What's done is done."

Steve stepped forward, a little closer than Tony was comfortable with. He was already on edge, and the conversation was derailing quickly. "Just because I got Bucky back, doesn't mean I stopped caring about you. As I recall, you were the one who pulled away when we first found him—not me."

His chest ached, but it wasn't the scar. He remembered the look on Steve's face when they found Bucky. He knew that it was over then. He didn't need to be told. What Steve and Bucky shared was something you just didn't stand between. What happened in Siberia was simply the final nail in the coffin.

"And my instincts were right." Tony shrugged. "Look at you now. Two peas in a pod."

"That's not fair."

Tony raised a brow. "Isn't it? Just calling it like I see it."

Steve sighed, shoulders sagging. "Do you have a comeback for everything? Why do you have to be so hostile? I don't want to fight with you. Because despite what you seem to believe, I do actually give a damn about you."

Like it or not, he felt some of his anger leave him. Steve was doing a good job of pulling off his hurt puppy dog face, and it was hard to stay mad at that. He was pretty sure the asshole did it on purpose. No one could look that innocent without practice.

The truth was, he didn't want to fight either. The little energy he had was already waning. He felt raw and vulnerable and wanted nothing more than to curl up and forget the conversation had ever happened, but he doubted the super soldier in the room was going to let him. Steve's eyes were cutting through him like he was trying to see the broken parts inside. Why did he have to care? It made it so much harder to keep his walls together when he could see the lines of worry on Steve's face.

Tony sighed, head shaking. "I'm too tired for this—too screwed up for this. I never should have told you—never should have dragged you into this mess."

"But I'm glad you did," Steve said. "I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me. I know we have a long way to go, but I hope it's a sign that maybe things could get better."

He thought back to his therapist and her words on forgiveness—_forgiveness doesn't change the past; it allows for the future_. He finally understood the meaning. He had done various things, grand gestures, trying to prove to the team he'd forgiven them, when really, he needed to look a little deeper. He needed to accept what had happened, but not forget. He needed to forgive so the wound could heal—so the infection could be cleansed. He was tired of being angry. He didn't need to do it for them. He had to do it for himself.

Tony rubbed at the back of his neck. "This whole thing went sideways. I didn't want to fight either. It's not easy to talk about this stuff for me but thank you for not calling me a freak or bolting out of the room. Believe it or not, I haven't told that many people."

"Who else knows about this?" Steve asked.

"Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, Dr. Cho," Tony answered. "And now you."

Steve nodded. "I have to admit. I know I'm out of my depth. I don't really know anything about this, but I'm willing to learn. I want to learn. You shouldn't have to carry this by yourself."

Tony played with the hem of his sleeve, pulling on a loose thread. "I can have Friday supply you with some info if you want." He shrugged. "Basically, it's a mood disorder. I have trouble staying in the middle like everyone else—especially since I take terrible care of myself as Pepper likes to put it. The medication helps me stay in the middle—if I take it." The last part was mumbled, and he wasn't sure why he included it. Steve caught it, though.

"Do you? Take them, I mean."

Tony shrugged again. "I try, but it's hard sometimes."

Steve leaned back against the counter, drawing in a breath that he let out in a huff. "Have you thought about telling the others?"

He stiffened at the suggestion. It was one thing telling Steve. It was another for the whole team to find out. "I can't. They won't trust me out there. It's better no one else knows."

"It doesn't change who you are. You've always been this way, right?" Steve asked, looking to him for confirmation. Tony nodded. "See? And look at what you've managed to accomplish. This won't change how they see you. You're still the same man they fought beside. We all have your six, Tony. Let us help you."

Tony drew a shaky breath, turning to hide his face as he wiped at the tears from his face. It did nothing to stop them, though. He growled in frustration as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes like it could stop the flow. "I just don't want to be treated differently."

"You won't be," Steve said, stepping over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's hard but try to trust us."

Tony rubbed the scar on his chest, swallowing hard. "I don't even know where to start—how to tell them. It's not something I know how to talk about."

"Maybe start small," Steve suggested. "One person at a time. I know you don't know Bucky well, but he worries about you. He's always talking about you. He can see something's wrong and wants to help. He feels like he owes you."

He hadn't thought about Bucky in the storm of other feelings. He'd managed to move past his baggage about the Winter Soldier killing his parents, but it hurt when he thought of Steve and Bucky sharing a bed. Steve and Tony had been so close to being more, and then it all fell apart. He couldn't hold it against Steve though. Bucky had his heart long before Tony was even born. They were meant for each other. He wished there was a place for him between them, but he knew there wasn't. His heart broke a little more.

"Tony?" Steve said, snapping him back from his thoughts.

"Yeah, Bucky, that's fine. Maybe you could just tell him? I'm feeling tired. I'm gonna go lay on the couch and take a nap."

Steve squeezed his shoulder. "Wait, what's wrong? You're shutting down."

"It's nothing," Tony lied. "Like I said, just tired. Go see Bucky."

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Tony, this is about him, isn't it?"

"Dammit, why can you just leave things alone? Yes, okay? It's about him. It's about him and you and the fact I let myself get too caught up with something that never could be mine. It's my problem, not yours. I think Bucky is great. I like him, okay? But could you please go before I have a fucking aneurysm."

"Tony—"

"Go, please!"

Steve nodded and made his way out of the workshop.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve walked up the stairs and toward the common room. He could hear the team talking and laughing as he approached. Steve wasn't feeling social, though. He felt overwhelmed, confused, and heartbroken. It was all too much information at once. He felt terrible that Tony thought he didn't care. Because the truth was, he did—more than he had any right to. Steve had never stopped loving him. When it came to Tony, he felt deeply and with everything he had—just like he did with Bucky. He wished that he could go back and change how things had played out, but he couldn't. Life didn't work that way. He would just have to accept that what they once shared was gone.

His mind wandered to the conversation they'd had and Tony's confession. He wondered if he'd played a role in his attempt on his life. Just the thought made his stomach do a flip. He felt nauseous thinking about it. He never imagined Tony suffering in such a way. He always thought of him as a firecracker who could handle anything. Steve didn't know how much Tony was hiding. He really had screwed everything up.

As he walked by the common area, the chatter died down, and everyone froze to look at him. His eye caught Rhodey, who was sitting on the arm of the couch. "Do you have a minute to talk?" Steve asked.

He glanced over to see Bucky studying him. He knew his friend had questions from the look on his face, but Steve put up a hand and shook his head, signaling they'd talk later. Bucky accepted it with a nod.

Rhodey began to stand. "Yeah, we can go to my office."

Steve nodded and gestured for him to lead the way.

His office was unremarkable, nothing fancy or extravagant. There was a desk, some leather chairs, and a small matching sofa. Steve walked over to the couch and sat down, putting his face in his hands.

"He told you, didn't he?" Rhodey pulled over one of the chairs, taking a seat across from him.

"Yeah." Steve breathed, dropping his hands to look at him. "He told me a lot, actually. I don't know what to think."

"Let's start small," Rhodey said. "He told you about the bipolar?"

Steve nodded. "I still don't understand it, though. He kinda explained it, but really, he was just putting himself down a lot."

"He does that, especially when he's depressed—like now. He hates thinking of himself as different or having a mental illness. He thinks it makes him weak, partly the reason we struggle to keep him on medication. It's actually pretty common for bipolar patients to have trouble staying on them, and Tony seems to have a running list of why he thinks he doesn't need them."

Steve nodded. "How long has he been off them?"

"From our best guess, a month or two. He's been here alone, so no one has really been keeping tabs. It wasn't until Pepper got a call from the pharmacy that he hadn't been picking up his meds that we knew something was wrong."

"So, these medications, they help him? What do they do?"

"Well, he's on a mood stabilizer called Depakote—that helps keep his manias under control more than anything. His biggest problem by far is mania," Rhodey explained. "It can be addicting. Tony described it to me like a rush. He feels like he's invincible like he can do anything, conquer the world with his arms tied behind his back. He goes days with only hours of sleep. He also has some nasty PTSD as well. When he came home from Afghanistan, he was a mess. He was nearly delusional from the torture and lack of sleep. It was never released, but he ended up needing a short hospital stay to get stable after that."

Steve leaned back, taking in the info. "And the shot, why that? Can't he just take pills? It clearly hurts him."

"Med compliance," Rhodey said simply. "It lasts for a month, so we know he's at least getting something."

"I feel awful." Steve rubbed at his eyes. "I had no idea."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. Tony hides it well." Rhodey sighed. "He takes some other meds, too. They help him sleep and help with his anxiety attacks. He takes one to help with the tremors in his hands. Getting regular sleep helps keep him stable, making sure he eats, too. You guys kind of returned in the middle of an episode."

"Have you always known?" Steve asked.

Rhodey took a breath. "I suspected back when he was at MIT that something wasn't right. He self-medicated then though—trying to fix his problems with alcohol and drugs. His father pretty much fucked him up enough that he didn't reach out for real help until later. I think Obadiah might have known—not that that did him any favors."

"So, what now? I feel helpless here. I went down there to talk to him, but I think I just made everything worse," Steve said. "I brought up Bucky, and then he got upset and kicked me out."

Rhodey nodded. "I can see that—given how close you and Tony were getting before everything happened."

"I don't know what to do. I want to help him." Steve flopped back against the cushions. "I know it's selfish, but I never stopped caring for him."

"Look, man," Rhodey said, clearing his throat. "You need to decide what it is you want from him and make it clear, even if it hurts you. Tony needs stability. I don't think he can take another major letdown."

Steve sighed. "I care about them both."

"Short of making some ragtag three-way relationship, you're gonna have to choose. I'm not gonna stand by and let you mess with his head. He's got enough problems right now."

He knew Rhodey was joking, but part of him couldn't help but entertain the idea. He wished it could be that simple. He'd expected some bumps in the road coming home, but he never thought it would be like this. He never thought he'd find Tony so broken and his own feelings still so strong.

"I know what you're thinking and stop." Rhodey raised a brow. "I was kidding about the threesome. Tony is not in shape for some screwed up relationship between the man who left him for dead and the guy who killed his parents. I think it would be best if you didn't open old wounds and let him just get over you."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Steve said, though the idea still lingered in his mind.

Rhodey raised his brows, tipping his head to the side. "I know I'm right."

"So, what can I do to help?"

"Just be his friend." He made it sound so simple. "He needs people around him who care. Encourage him to eat and sleep on a schedule. He's as stubborn as a mule, so any help is appreciated."

"I can do that."

"Oh, let me grab you something else." Rhodey got up, walking over to his desk and pulling a drawer open. He grabbed a tattered yellow book and handed it to him; the cover read Bipolar for Dummies. Steve smiled at that. "I think reading this might help you understand a little better."

Steve thanked him, taking the book and heading towards the bedroom that he and Bucky shared.

He wasn't surprised to see Bucky stretched out on the bed reading when he stepped inside. Since leaving Wakanda, he would spend hours a day lost in fictional worlds where reality couldn't reach him. It was how he coped.

"Hey," Steve greeted him, toeing off his shoes and walking over to lay beside him.

"Penny for your thoughts." Bucky craned his neck to look at the book in Steve's hand but not making a comment.

Steve turned on his side to face Bucky, propping himself up on an elbow. "I saw Tony."

Bucky nodded for him to continue.

"He told me what was wrong. He is depressed, but there is more going on than that. He has this thing. I guess it's called bipolar. It means he has episodes of different moods, and he hasn't been taking care of himself." He paused, taking a breath. "And he told me about something—something that happened when we were gone. He … He tried to take his life, Buck."

Bucky sucked in a breath. "We did that to him, didn't we?"

"I don't know," Steve said. "I don't want to think we did, but part of me knows we played a part. I left him there, Buck. He thinks I chose you over him."

"Can you really blame him for seeing it that way? It wasn't just you who left him in that bunker. I was right beside you. We walked out of there together. What kind of people does that make us?"

Steve sighed. "I don't know. The worst kind."

"Can I ask you something and you be completely honest?"

He nodded, turning his head to look at Bucky.

"Do you still love him?" Bucky didn't look angry, just curious.

Steve closed his eyes and nodded. "I love you both. That's a problem, huh?"

Bucky surprised him by huffing a laugh. "Yeah, Stevie, some might call that a problem."

"I didn't mean it to happen. I never—"

Bucky rolled up onto his side, pressing his lips to Steve's, cutting off his apology before he even got started. He leaned in, resting their foreheads together. "I don't need to hear you apologizing for something out of your control. At least you have good taste. I would've had to judge you if you confessed secret feelings for Barton."

Steve laughed. "Clint's definitely safe from me, but seriously though, what does this mean for us?"

Bucky rolled and dropped onto his back, throwing an arm over his head. He shrugged. "I know it sounds weird, but I'm not really jealous. I don't know how to explain it, but I care about the guy. I get what you see in him."

Steve hummed in response, his mind going to Rhodey's joke about relationships. If only life were that simple, but then again, why did it have to be complicated?

"So, you gonna tell me about the book you brought back?" Bucky asked, snatching it from his grasp. "Bipolar for Dummies. This about that thing Tony has?"

"Yeah, Rhodey let me borrow it. I think he could tell I was out of my depth."

"Well, if the title is anything to go by, it was written just for you." Bucky flipped through the pages, occasionally stopping to read something he found interesting.

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're a real comedian."

"You know it," Bucky said, still flipping. "So, does this have something to do with why he's been limping?"

"Yeah, one of the meds is an injection. I guess he gets a nasty lump from it."

"Does he know you're telling me this?"

Steve nodded. "He knows. I think he wants to be more open with it, but he's afraid of getting hurt. I just had no idea any of this was going on. I feel so blindsided by it all. I don't want him to think he has to go through this alone."

"Because you love him."

"I'm sorry, Buck." Steve sighed. "I don't know how things got so screwed up."

He heard Bucky draw in a deep breath and then adjust in the bed, rolling onto his side to face him again. Steve blinked, looking at his partner, searching for signs of hurt or anger but finding none. Bucky laid his hand on his hip and sighed. "Steve, after all the bad I've done, after all the hurt I've left behind in the world, I ain't got a right to be angry at you for loving someone else. I wish there were a way to make it all work—to have our cake and eat it, too, but I don't think there's a way. I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you want to be with him, you should be. Don't worry about me."

"Jesus, Buck. Don't even—losing you? That's the last thing I want out of this."

Maybe he was more selfish than he wanted to admit, but Steve found himself wishing he could have it all, though Rhodey was probably right. Even if everyone were interested, it would be a lot of stress on Tony, and he knew that wasn't fair. Tony had said he'd forgiven them but forgiving someone and dating someone who had a hand in killing your parents was two very different things. It was really too bad. If they had all met in another time and place, outside the disaster that was their lives, Bucky and Tony would have probably hit it off famously.

"Alright, I gotta know. What's got you thinking so hard I can see smoke coming out of your ears?"

Steve looked away. "It doesn't matter. It's not something that would ever happen. Just me being stupid."

"I can believe that. You got stupid down pat." Bucky chuckled, rubbing his thumb against his hip. "Come on, Steve. Tell old Bucky what's wrong."

"You sound like a creep when you talk like that."

Bucky shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Out with it. I know when something's bugging you, so you might as well spill."

Steve sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment, opening them again to see Bucky staring at him, eyebrow raised. "You're gonna laugh. It really is stupid. It was just something Rhodey said as a joke. He wasn't serious. It just got me thinking is all."

"Okay, and what was the joke?"

Steve ducked his head, feeling a blush creep up his face. "That maybe the solution to the problem wasn't picking between the two of you but having you both."

He didn't dare look up and see Bucky's reaction. He felt him tense beside, and his hand that rubbing on his side stilled. "You mean like the three of us together or expecting us to be fine with sharing?"

Steve's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "No, I wouldn't do that. I meant the three of us together, but I know that wouldn't work. I told you it was stupid."

Bucky held his face in an unreadable mask, and Steve thought he had done it. He'd finally screwed things up beyond repair. He didn't want to lose Bucky, but from the blank look on his face, he already had.

And then the asshole shrugged.

He looked like he was casually considering the weather—not like his partner had just dumped his desire for a threesome in his lap. "Well, I don't think it's stupid. Seems alright to me, but I guess the real question would be if Tony is interested, and how do we find out without making a real mess of everything."

"You're taking this rather well."

Bucky laughed. "You threw yourself on a grenade in basic instead of getting out of the way. This is the least stupid idea you've had."


	7. Chapter 7

Tony woke from his nap, cursing. He had a kink in his neck from sleeping curled up on his couch in the workshop. He could barely straighten it. Just what he wanted to deal with on top of everything else.

Stomach grumbling, he stretched but stopped because of the pain. He rubbed at it for a minute, trying to loosen it, but it was a lost cause. Unsure how long he slept, he checked the time. It was later than he thought, and he knew if he didn't eat soon, Friday would tattle.

He was just about to get up to go upstairs when his workshop door opened. Living alone for so long, he hadn't had much need for locking the door. There were only his bots to bother him before, but now there were people, and not just any people, but nosey people who like to drop in and pester him. He really needed to get back in the habit of setting the locks.

What he saw when he looked up, made him freeze. There were two rather oversized super soldiers staring back at him. He wasn't ready to face them together. It wasn't fair that this was the hand he was dealt. He didn't want to sound like he was wallowing in his own self-pity, but maybe he was. He just didn't have it in him to fight more, and he really didn't want to see Steve and Bucky ogling each other in front of him.

It quickly became clear that they had entered some type of staring contest, and Tony was going to be damned if he gave in first, so he just held their gaze and squared his shoulders. It was ridiculous that this was what his life had come to. The fact no one spoke made the air in the room awkward. Tony was considering looking away when Bucky carefully, and ever so slowly, raised a brow, the smallest smirk playing on his lips. Apparently, this was funny to him.

Between everything that was going on and the pain in his neck, he wasn't in the mood. He practically growled as he spoke. "Glad someone is amused."

Bucky's expression changed at his harsh tone, his lips tugging down in a frown, his eyes soft and concerned. He was looking at Tony like he was something to be coddled like he was kitten someone found in a dumpster that needed to be saved. Tony studied Steve who seemed to be on the same page as Bucky. For a second, he wondered why they were looking at him like that, but then he remembered. Tony had given the green light for Steve to tell Bucky, which meant they were there to throw him a pity party. The last thing he needed or wanted was pity.

"We came down to see how you were doing," Steve said. "We ordered food."

"Not hungry." Tony scowled. He went to get up, but the movement pulled on his neck, making him wince. A small whimper might have even passed his lips as he tried to readjust, though he'd never admit to it.

What happened next, he never saw coming.

Bucky stepped forward, crossing the room and crouching down in front of him. Tony jumped at the intrusion into his personal space, making his neck pull painfully. He hissed out a curse, reaching up and rubbing at the knot in his neck and shoulder.

"Slept wrong, huh?" Bucky drawled, sending a shiver down his spine. He'd never heard that tone from the man before. It did things to him that he didn't want to admit to. "Let me." He brushed Tony's hand away and began rubbing where the knot had formed. He had no idea why he wasn't protesting, they barely knew each other, but his warm, calloused hand felt good working against his tired muscles, so for once, he ignored his logical side and just enjoyed it. He could spend hours later dissecting what it meant. Chalk it up to another reason he shouldn't have fired his therapist.

He may have made some pathetic noises of contentment as Bucky worked out the knot. His brain seemed to be turning to mush as he found himself resting his head on Bucky's shoulder. He couldn't help but notice how good he smelled. Was that even cologne or just his natural scent? He really should put a stop to this. Clearly, he was off his rocker more than he thought to be letting Bucky Barnes of all people give him a neck rub. It was so insane, it was funny.

"Better?" Bucky asked, still rubbing his neck.

"Little," Tony whimpered, his head still resting on Bucky's shoulder. He didn't want to move. He felt weirdly comfortable there even though he barely knew the man. Tony could see why Steve liked him. He was gentle despite having spent the last seventy years as a brainwashed murder bot. "So, I assume Steve told you. Should I get the streamers out for the pity party?"

"Nope, no pity." Bucky worked his thumb into a particularly sore spot. "Just want to help you—both of us do."

Tony lifted his head and looked into the eyes of the ex-assassin—not expecting the compassion he saw, the warmth. He knew logically Bucky wasn't the man that had murdered his parents, that the Winter Soldier had been in control, but seeing his eyes, he really got it. He was James Buchanan Barnes—a guy who been dealt an even worse hand in life than he had and was still standing. Tony understood what Steve saw in him. How could he not?

"I don't need any help." Tony pulled away, leaning back. "Or more babysitters, and if this is some weird guilt complex thing, you don't have to worry—everything is fine between us."

Steve walked over and sat beside him on the couch. "Tony, we aren't doing this because we feel guilty. We are doing this because we care. Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

"People shouldn't care about me."

He started digging the burn he got soldering a few days before, peeling the blister apart—the pain grounded him. It was something he sometimes did when things felt out of control. He'd pick at old wounds or even cause new ones. He was so used to doing it that he didn't give it a second thought until a strong hand gently took his.

"Not gonna let you hurt yourself." Bucky's voice was soft. He rubbed his thumbs rubbing back and forth over his pulse point. "Think there's been enough hurt passed around already. No need to go causing more."

Tony should have pulled his wrist free, but instead, he let Bucky hold him. It was odd and different but not necessarily wrong. He didn't know what to make of it. A tiny piece of him, the smallest part he kept tucked away, whispered things he didn't want to hear because they could never be true—things like maybe there was more to it. Maybe there was room for him somewhere in it all. He knew better than to hope or let that tiny piece of him get too loud. It would only hurt more if he did. He needed to accept that they were just nice to him because they felt bad. It was just what people did.

"Why don't you come upstairs and have some dinner with us?" Bucky said, thumb still sliding back and forth over the sensitive skin of his wrist.

"Come on." Steve put a hand on his back. "You need to eat."

Bucky stood up and offered him a hand. He considered it for a moment, but then figured things couldn't possibly get stranger, so he accepted his help and carefully stood. The soldier smiled, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. Bucky led the way, and Steve followed behind. He knew it didn't make a lot of sense, which might have been due to his lack of sleep, but being between them didn't feel so bad. At least for the moment, it made him feel safe, even if Tony didn't understand it—it was something he hadn't felt in a long time. He wanted to wrap himself in the feeling while he could.

They made their way to the common room where the TV was on, and the others were stretched out on the couches; takeout containers littered the coffee table.

"He lives," Natasha greeted him. "Sit down, grab some food. There's more than enough to go around."

Tony drew a breath, letting it out slowly. "Thanks." He walked over and poked through the boxes.

Nothing seemed very appealing, but he knew Rhodey, Friday, and now two soldiers were watching to make sure he ate. He settled on a small container of rice. He wanted to go back to his workshop and eat, but he knew he should try to be social. He grabbed a fork and took a seat on an empty couch. Steve and Bucky were quick to sit with him. He didn't look up at the others, but he could feel them watching him.

He poked at the rice for a minute before taking a bite. It didn't settle well in his stomach, but he ate it anyway. Even though it was a small amount, he couldn't finish it—a testimony to how little he was used to eating. He'd been on a nearly liquid diet for a while now—mostly coffee and smoothies. Food was either something he didn't have time for or something he was too exhausted to make.

He set the container down and glanced up to see Rhodey giving him the 'Don't Think I Didn't Notice You Not Eating' look. Tony shrugged in response, and Rhodey just shook his head.

"Thanks for dinner, guys," Tony said, pushing himself from the couch. "But I have some work to do, so I'm gonna head back to the shop."

"You just got here," Sam protested. "Stay, hang out, live a little. You've kept yourself locked up for days."

"Sorry, but work doesn't wait. I'll catch you guys later." Tony quickly turned, heading back to the safety of his workshop.

"Tones," he heard Rhodey call from behind him, but he didn't stop. It was just starting to sink in how weird things had just gotten, and he needed to escape. He needed to get his defenses back up and to stop letting blue-eyed soldiers find ways behind his walls.

Once he reached his workshop, he first made sure to set it to lockdown, and then he went to the freezer and grabbed an ice pack. He settled down on the couch, sitting down carefully and pressing the pack to his hip. He felt awful—like he had the flu, but he knew in a few days, the worst would be over.

"Friday, give me something to work on," he said. "I don't care what."

A second later, the schematics for Clint's hearing aids were in front of him. He expanded the hologram, looking for ways to improve them. It settled his mind for a bit to have something to focus on. Eventually, pleased with the new design, he had Friday began fabricating the parts.

The stress of the day had gotten to him, and his head began to hurt. He got up and walked over to the cabinet, digging for some ibuprofen. Finding the bottle, he shook a few into his hand. He grabbed a water from the fridge, twisting the cap off, and popping the pills in his mouth. He swallowed them down and then went to see how the hearing aids were coming along. The parts were nearly done.

Satisfied, he walked over and started a pot of coffee only to be interrupted by Friday.

"Boss," his AI spoke. "Coffee this late in the evening could be counterproductive to your sleep schedule. May I suggest another beverage such as herbal tea?"

Tony growled, glaring at the ceiling. "Fuck this. Friday, deactivate Missing Marbles protocol, override code 83912-Foxtrot-Echo-Victor."

"Protocol has been deactivated," Friday spoke. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

Tony grabbed a dirty mug and walked over to the sink, washing it out. "Nope." He turned off the water. "That'll be all."

He went back to the coffee maker and poured a cup, taking a sip. He relaxed a little, enjoying the familiar aroma and taste.

"Incoming call from Ms. Potts."

"Go ahead," Tony said. "Patch her through."

"Tony, I got a text from Friday. You deactivated the protocol." Pepper's voice was strained. "What's going on?"

Just then, there was a knock on the door—probably Rhodey. He'd forgotten Friday sent out notices.

"Hang on a sec, Pep," he said. "Friday, tell Rhodey I'm fine and talking to Pepper please."

Pepper sighed. "So, what's going on, Tony?"

"Nothing, I just wanted some space." He took a sip of his coffee. "It just got too much when my own AI started telling me I drink too much coffee. I'm feeling claustrophobic in my own home. I'm being a good boy. I'm taking my meds. I'm trying, Pep, but you guys got to cut me a little slack here."

There was more to it than that, but she didn't need to know about what happened earlier with Bucky and Steve. She'd probably insist on calling Dr. Cho if she found out. Not that he'd blame her. Letting your almost ex's new boyfriend close enough to give you a neck massage could be classified as strange behavior.

He heard her sigh. "I'm sorry, Tony. No one meant to make you feel uncomfortable. We just worry. We know how hard you can crash. We weren't trying to smother you. I'm sorry it made you feel that way."

"I know you mean well, and I can't blame you after the things I've put you through," he said. "But I promise that I am trying my best right now."

"Okay, I'll trust you on that for now, so how's everything else going?"

He rubbed at his temple. His headache still lingering. "Honestly?"

"Preferably."

"I don't know. I feel like crap," Tony started. "I'm still adjusting to being back on meds. They're making me tired all day. Sometimes I can still feel Steve's shield in my chest, but the weird thing is, I can't seem to be mad at him for it. It's the opposite. If I'm honest, Pep, I want to be around him. I like being near him. How fucked up is that?"

"Well, you never do the predictable thing." She laughed.

He downed the last of his coffee. "Both him and Bucky went out of their way to be nice to me today—which was weird, and even though I don't understand why, I guess I liked it. I'm not supposed to like being around them. I should want to keep my distance, but I don't. I know this is insane, Pep, but they make me feel safe. Again, how fucked-up am I?"

"Oh, Tony," Pepper said. "Wanting to be around people isn't a bad thing. Did you tell them?"

"Yeah, well, I kind of told Steve, and he passed it along to Bucky. We all had a moment."

"That's great, Tony. It's a step in the right direction. You need people you can count on—people who care."

"It just means more people I can hurt." He leaned against the counter. "Like how I hurt you. Because you can't lie and say you don't have nightmares from finding me like that."

"Tony." She sighed. "Don't do that to yourself. You deserve to have friends who love you. We've all made mistakes in our life. Dwelling on the past, punishing yourself, it isn't going to help you now or in the future." He heard her draw a breath. "I think I need to make something clear because you don't seem to catch the obvious sometimes. I forgive you, Tony—for everything and anything that big, genius brain of yours thinks you've done wrong. I forgive you, and I think you need to forgive yourself, too."

He let her words sink in for a moment. It settled funny in his gut. It went against the grain of his internal dialogue. His mind was a constant stream of the ways he wasn't good enough, the ways he hurt people, the ways let people down. It was hard to go against the thoughts. He tried to hang onto her words, though—like a lifeline.

Tears began pricking at his eyes, and he was thankful he was alone. He wiped them away with his sleeve.

"I hate this, Pep," he said. "I hate how much it hurts. I don't know what normal feels like because I have never been normal, and I'm so fucking tired. We've tried so many meds, so many combinations, but the stability never lasts. I just fuck it up, and I don't know why. I feel like I keep letting people down."

And then he was sobbing, broken, ugly sobs, tears running down his cheeks. If Howard could only see him now.

"Sweetheart, I know it hurts," she said. "I wish I could take the pain away, but if you'd let people in, let people help you, I promise it will be better. You've been hiding this for so long—struggling on your own. It doesn't have to be this hard."

Tony hiccupped back a sob—fucking hiccupped. He set his cup down and grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them with lukewarm water from the sink. He wiped his face and drew a shaky breath.

"What if they leave me again?" he asked, sounding utterly pathetic. "I don't think I could take it. What if they can't deal with me and leave? I don't think I could handle it again."

"Shhh," Pepper soothed. "You already told me that Bucky and Steve know, and they haven't rejected you—actually, from the sound of it, it's the opposite. I think you'll find the rest of them just as understanding."

"I don't know," Tony said, his head was pounding again despite the ibuprofen he'd taken earlier. "I need time to think."

"I understand. Take your time. Oh, and by the way, Rhodey has texted me about five times now demanding to know if you're alright. I told him you're fine and just taking some time to clear your head."

"Thanks."

"No problem," she said. "Now, go, try to relax. Helen is coming tomorrow to check in on you. Don't forget."

"Thank you, Pep. Make sure to give yourself a raise. I don't pay you nearly enough to deal with my meltdowns."

She laughed. "I'm your friend, Tony. I don't need to be paid to be there for you."

"You're too good for me."

"Get some rest, Tony."

The call disconnected, and he leaned back against the counter. He took a few slow breaths and tried to gather himself. His thoughts wandered to Steve and Bucky, and a warm feeling spread through him. He was letting that broken part of him hope, and it was going to be the end of him.

He looked at the time. It was getting late. He needed to shower and change, maybe eat a little more, too. Sighing, he made his way up toward the kitchen. The group was sitting around watching a movie. Tony glanced over at them. Bucky and Steve were sitting together. Steve had his arm around Bucky's shoulders, fingers toying with his hair. It felt like Tony had been sucker-punched. He felt stupid for letting their concern delude him into thinking there was some hope for something more. They had each other, and they didn't need some broken man coming between them. Steve had made his choice, and in his place, he would have probably made the same decision.

Any thoughts of eating gone, he took off, probably a bit too fast, toward his room. It wasn't until he was nearly there that he noticed he was being followed—two sets of heavy footsteps echoed behind him. He knew without looking who they belonged to.

The closer they got, the more his chest started to hurt. He could hear them gaining ground, and he stumbled over his own feet, hand going to the wall to catch himself. He just needed to get to his room. If he got there, he could take a Valium and calm down—everything would be fine. His vision was getting spotty as he tried to catch his breath—as his lungs burned. He needed to calm down. He stumbled again, but before he could fall, arms were wrapping around him, one metal, one flesh, helping him to his feet.

"Sorry if we scared you." Bucky's voice came from beside his ear. "It looked like you saw a ghost. We wanted to check on you."

"I just need … I need to get to my room," Tony said as he tried to get air into his lungs, but no matter how hard he tried, it didn't feel like he was getting any oxygen. He was getting dizzy and knew he was close to passing out. He needed to get in control of himself. Falling apart wasn't an option.

"Easy, Tony." Steve's voice came from somewhere beside him. "What do you need?"

He shook his head and pulled out of Bucky's arms, still gasping for breath. "I'm fine."

He straightened and made his way to his room, struggling to open the door. He immediately went to the dresser and dug for the bottle he needed. He took two out and chewed them, knowing they would work faster. In his haste to get inside, he'd forgotten that he'd left his door open.

"Would it be okay if we came in?" Steve asked from the doorway. He glanced over to see both soldiers observing him.

Tony nodded, shoving the drawer closed. He didn't have much to lose by inviting them into his room. Things were already a confusing mess between them. He walked over to the bed and sat, looking up at the larger men. He was still breathing fast, but the pills were already beginning to take the edge off his anxiety. "So, was there something you guys wanted?"

"Can we sit?" Bucky nodded to the bed. It was big enough that there was room beside him without feeling crowded.

Tony nodded, still trying to get a lid on his emotions.

They approached him cautiously like they were afraid of startling him. The logical part of his brain was running through a list of reasons that this was all kinds of wrong, but that small, dangerous part was enjoying having them near.

They sat on either side of him, and he couldn't deny the little bit of warmth stirring inside him.

Steve looked over at him, his hands clasped in his lap. "You looked upset earlier—when you saw us. We were worried."

"There's a lot of that going around today." Tony chuckled darkly, picking at his nails. "Thanks for the concern, but I'm used to bad days. You guys could've finished your movie."

"We needed to talk to you." Bucky's voice was serious, and it made Tony's heart speed up. "I know we don't know each other well, but Steve and I, we can't do this. Steve can't pretend he doesn't—"

"Bucky, not now," Steve warned.

This was it. Rejection.

His chest felt like it was being crushed—the major letdown had arrived. Here was karma's cruel retribution for all the pain and death he'd caused. He'd told them the truth, and now they were ditching him. He felt himself sucking in painful breaths. His life was like a carnival game—rigged from the start.

"Tony," Steve said, placing a hand on his back. "You need to calm down. You're safe. Bucky and I are here. You're in the compound. Everything's fine. Come on, Tony, breathe."

He wasn't listening. He was heading full speed into a meltdown. His chest heaved, and he sucked in a wheezy breath. He put his head in his hands, lacing his fingers in his hair. "I knew it," Tony choked. "Pepper was wrong. I shouldn't have believed her. No one wants me. No one wants me."

He'd give anything to get away—to be free from this horrible pain. He hated it. He didn't feel like he had control of his emotions anymore. He didn't deserve the Stark name. Tears started burning their way down his cheeks. He was turning into an emotional wreck.

Bucky got up and knelt in front of him. His cool, metal hand gently nudging Tony's chin up from his chest. "Tony." Bucky's voice was gentle but firm. "No one said they didn't want you. It's actually quite the opposite. We both do."

Tony wiped his tears on his sleeve and blinked at Bucky, looking at him, really looking at him. All he saw were the same kind, gentle eyes he'd seen before, except now they were touched with worry.

He took a few calming breaths, feeling Steve's grounding hand on his back, rubbing gently. He couldn't remember a time he was such an absolute wreck. Even when he'd tried to take his own life, he hadn't cried—actually the opposite. He'd been numb and empty. This was different. He was feeling so much. His emotions tearing him apart.

What Bucky had said didn't make sense—nothing made sense. He needed something to make it all stop—even if only for a moment. He started digging at the burn on his thumb, but before he could do much damage, Bucky gently took his hands into his own. Tony was about to apologize when something happened that made his heart slam to a stop. Bucky lifted his injured hand to his mouth and gently kissed the wound, soft lips lingering for a moment.

"There are better ways to deal with things." Bucky's grip was comforting and reassuring. "You don't need to hurt yourself more. We both care about you too much to let that happen."

He couldn't look away from Bucky's face. When had things changed? How did he come to care so much for a man he barely knew? It was all wrong. It shouldn't be happening, but it was. This wasn't in his plans. He was supposed to keep his distance, stay strong, and keep himself from growing attached. He'd walked this road once before with Steve and barely survived. He didn't think he could make it out alive if he went another round.

"You okay?" Steve didn't sound bothered by what Bucky had done. His hand still moved back and forth across his back as Bucky held his hand. "Tony," Steve prompted again.

He wanted to answer, but his brain was offline. His mind struggled to connect to the dots—to try and piece together how they'd gotten to where they were. His morning had started off so normal.

"This was why I wanted to wait, Buck," he heard Steve say over his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Stevie, but he needed to know. He needs to know that we want him—that we care."

Well, it'd been a while since he'd lost it completely. He wondered if he was back in the hospital, doped up on the good stuff, maybe in a padded room with some crayons—that would make a lot more sense. Because if there was one thing he knew for a fact, it was that things like this didn't happen in real life. They didn't happen to people like him.

Bucky rubbed his thumb back and forth over the back of Tony's hand. "Come on, Tony," Bucky said softly. "Come back to us." He shifted Tony's hands into his metal one and then reached up to cup Tony's face with his other. It felt strangely real for a hallucination. No matter what it was, it felt good, so he leaned into it, accepting the warmth.

After a few minutes, Tony's brain seemed to finally reboot, and his brow furrowed. He looked to Steve, and then to Bucky, and then back to Steve. "Why are you guys … I mean." He drew a breath. "You're together," he said. "And you kissed my hand." He looked Bucky. "And why do you look so okay with this?" He glanced back at Steve.

Steve sighed. "I wanted to wait to talk to you about it. We didn't want to pressure you or take advantage of you because you're going through so much right now, but like usual, Bucky couldn't hold his horses."

Tony nodded, taking in what Steve just said, but not eliminating the option that he might be gnawing on crayons in some padded room somewhere. "Okay, so what are you saying exactly? That you guys have feelings for me?"

"Tony, you know I loved you before Siberia, and I never stopped," Steve said. "Despite our differences and everything we've been through, you've always held a piece of my heart." His hand slid up to Tony's neck and rubbed gently. He found his eyes slipping closed at the touch.

"You doing okay?" Bucky asked.

He opened his eyes and swallowed, looking to Bucky, who was still gently holding his hands in his metal one. "I don't know. I guess this is a lot to take in. I mean, you've just met me. How can you be sure you even like me?"

Bucky smiled, and Tony almost thought he saw a blush on his cheeks.

"I don't know, but I am." Bucky shrugged. "T'Challa told me stories about you. How hard you'd worked to help me to get a second chance. I can't imagine how hard that was for you, yet you did it anyway. Says a lot about the kind of person you are."

"Once I understood, it was easy. It wasn't you that did those things. It was the Winter Soldier," Tony said, holding Bucky's gaze. "Don't blame yourself for something you couldn't control."

A small smile touched Bucky's lips. "That's what I mean—that right there. You have such a good heart. The way you fought to pardon everyone—how you went to trial to fight for me even though you owed me nothing. You never asked for a thing in return. You even gave us all a home again. When I saw you again, you looked like life had run over you with a truck, and it bothered me. The guy who'd done so much shouldn't be hurting like that."

Tony shook his head. "I'm not a good man, Bucky. I'm a killer—ask Wanda. I can say with fair certainty that at least a quarter or more of the world's population hates me. You know what they used to call me? The Merchant of Death."

He tried to look down, but Bucky gently guided his chin up to meet his gaze. "Why are you so able to forgive others, to see their good, yet you can't see your own? You're not the Merchant of Death anymore. You're a strong and amazing man who works to make the world a better place. You can't keep punishing yourself for the things of the past—just like I can't blame myself for the things Winter did."

"I'm sorry," Tony said, trying to wriggle free. He needed to move. Bucky let his wrists go, standing, so Tony could get to his feet. He began pacing. "We're not the same, Bucky. You were brainwashed into doing those things—I just did them because I could. I built weapons that killed people because I could. I was proud of it. I'm toxic. Everything I touch gets tainted. People have nightmares from just knowing me. Just ask Pepper.

"Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't want to be with you both, I can imagine the headlines now, but what you have, it's pure—seriously, it's like the world's most epic love story. I wouldn't only bring you down with how fucking difficult and needy I am—I'd ruin your relationship. I'm sick—broken. I can barely control when I'm up or when I'm down. I honestly don't know how I'm still alive some days. I hate eating. I hate taking my meds. I'm a horrible morning person. I live on coffee. I'm as high maintenance as it gets." He paused, turning to face them. "I'm not what you need. You deserve better, on so many fucking levels, you deserve better." Tony sighed. "Please don't love me. I'm not worth it."

He stared at them as he caught his breath, waiting for his words to sink in, waiting for them to realize what a generally bad example of humanity he was, but instead, Steve stood, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a brow.

"Are you done?" Steve asked.

Tony stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket, mostly so they couldn't see him digging at the burn. The pain grounded him a little, but also because he wanted to shrink away as Steve had his Captain America face on and it was a bit intimidating, to say the least, so he settled on a shrug, not really sure what else to say.

"That speech was something," Steve said. "I'll give you credit for making such a great list of all the reasons why we shouldn't care about you, but none of it scares me away." He stepped closer to Tony until they were standing toe to toe. "You know why?"

Tony looked into his eyes, shaking his head. He felt off-center and out of his element. Typically, if he pushed people hard enough, he could scare them away. Tony had even pushed Pepper away. He'd kept her at arm's length despite everything they'd been through, but this, whatever this was, scared him. They were seeing him for the fucked-up mess he was and weren't running the other way.

"Because when I look at you, I see someone hiding behind a mask because they're afraid of being hurt. I see a man who deserves to be loved." Steve reached out and gently brushed his knuckles along Tony's jawline. "We're not going to force you into something you don't want. We can all just be friends, but we still won't leave you—not again. You're worth the effort, Tony."

He swallowed dryly, feeling overwhelmed. How the hell had his day gotten to this point? All his perfectly crafted defenses were toppling. He tore at the burn on his thumb and pressed his nail into the wound. Pain was good. Pain he knew. It helped him feel grounded. He could feel blood trickling down his finger, warm and sticky.

Bucky stepped closer, a look of disappointment on his face, but before Tony could ask why, the man was tugging his hand from the hoodie. The ex-assassin turned it carefully in the light before letting it drop to Tony's side. "We're going to talk about this later."

Tony went to hide it in his pocket again, but Bucky stopped him. "Leave it where I can see it."

He did as he was told, not wanting to see any more disappointment in Bucky's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Tony said. "Not just for this." He raised his injured hand. "But because I don't know how to accept people caring. Howard made sure I knew my worth growing up. You have no idea how much baggage I have."

"Tony," Steve warned. "What did I tell you? You can't scare us away, so stop trying."

"I wish you could see what we see," Bucky said. "You're so hard on yourself—so negative. We want to help fix that."

Tony couldn't help but stifle a chuckle.

"What?" Steve said.

"It's just my therapist once said something similar about being negative, so I fired her."

Neither of them looked impressed.

"So, uh, this potential thing between us." Tony chewed his lip nervously. "I guess I'm interested and wouldn't mind seeing where it goes, but I need to take things slow—like molasses in Antarctica slow. Fuck, maybe slower than that. It's a PTSD thing—a throwback to some things I'd rather forget." He was rambling a little and knew it.

"We can do that," Steve said reassuringly. "Whatever you need. We aren't going to rush you, and if you aren't ready and just want to be friends, that's fine, too. You're in charge here."

Tony could see the sincerity in Steve's eyes, and it put him at ease. He looked to Bucky and was greeted with the same warmth. He wasn't sure how he deserved to have one, let alone two, people willing to deal with the fucked-up mess that was his life, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I definitely want to be more than friends," Tony admitted, looking at the floor. "But you should know some stuff about my past. I just don't know how to say it." He walked over and sat back on the bed, putting his head in his hands.

"You don't need to tell us anything you're not comfortable with," Bucky came to sit beside him. "We don't want you stirring up something you've put to bed. Like they say, sometimes it's best to let sleeping dogs lie."

"No, you need to hear this as much as I need to say it. It might change your mind about wanting me."

Bucky took his hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of it. "I'm willing to bet it won't change a thing."

Steve stepped over and took a seat on the other side of him, his hand going to his back. "We're right here with you. Whatever it is you've got to say, we aren't going anywhere."

Tony took a few steadying breaths. He didn't even know if he had the energy to do this, but it was now or never. If he just bit the bullet and put it out there, maybe it wouldn't hold so much power over him. If only he could think of the words to start. "I honestly don't know where to begin."

Steve's hand glided up and down his back. "Just start wherever you need to. We'll catch on."

He nodded, his heart beginning to beat a little faster and his mouth going dry. "Well, as you probably know, I was treated to the scenic tour of Afghanistan a while back, spending some time kidnapped in a cave." He wrung his hands, trying not to dig at the burn. "They wanted weapons, and they wanted me to build them." He licked at his lips. "Obviously, I refused, and that's when the party started."

He could feel himself starting to shake as the memories came back as sharp and clear as the day they happened. He focused on the warm touch of the two men beside him, letting it ground him.

"You don't need to do this." Steve's hand stilled. "You're shaking. Whatever it is, I promise it won't change things. This isn't good for you."

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, looking over at Steve. "Please, I need to get this out. If I wait, I might never get the courage again."

"Okay," Steve said, hand beginning to move again. "But take your time. We're not going anywhere."

Tony nodded, and Bucky gave his hand a gentle squeeze. It gave him the strength to continue.

"Like I said, I refused to cooperate, so they got started trying to make me. Waterboarding was first, not as fun as the name sounds, and when that didn't work, things got a bit kinky." He huffed a laugh, eyes beginning to tear. "They started whipping me until I blacked out." He drew a shaky breath.

"It's okay," Steve whispered. "We're right here."

He nodded, shaking loose a tear that rolled down his cheek. He tried to find the words for what was to come. "You know how they say hindsight is 20/20? They really do mean it. Looking back, I should have just given in at the waterboarding."

His body wouldn't stop shaking now, no matter how hard he tried to control it. His mind was torn in two. One half screaming for him to shut up, to not open this box, and the other just wanting to finally let it out. He'd been holding this secret for far too long.

He took a few steadying breaths. "So, where was I? Oh, yeah," he breathed. "I never thought about what would happen if I kept refusing. I was different back then—more reckless, I guess. I thought I was unbreakable, but they had something else up their sleeve, something I hadn't even considered."

His mouth was going dry, and the tears were flowing freely. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, but it did no good as the tears continued to fall. "One day, they came and started dragging me somewhere new. I was running my mouth, daring them to do their worst. I didn't know. I didn't think, but when I saw, I knew. They were going to break me."

He sucked in a breath, blinking away the tears. "There was a dirty mattress on the floor with some cliché looking bad guys standing around the room. They pushed me onto it, stripping off my clothes." He felt sick remembering it; every detail was still etched perfectly in his mind. "They each took turns. One of them turned out to be a biter. I still have the scar on my shoulder from him."

Bucky's grip had tightened on his hand, and Steve had stopped moving his. His head was still down, but he flicked his gaze over to Bucky whose other hand was fisted in his lap. Tony knew it wasn't an easy story to hear. He just hoped it hadn't changed things between them.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to will the tears to stop. "I get it if you guys want to back out after that."

No one spoke. Time seemed to stand still, only the sounds of breathing filling the room, something which Tony took as rejection. He knew it'd been too good to be true. He thought that maybe, just once, the universe had given him a pass, let him have something good, but he was wrong. They didn't want him.

He needed to get away—to be anywhere but there. He went to stand, but when he tried, Steve's hand moved to his shoulder, gently stopping him. He looked over at him. There were tears in the man's eyes.

"What they did ... It changes nothing," Steve said. "You survived something that most people couldn't. Jesus, Tony, don't ever think that what those monsters did would change how we see you."

He choked back a sob as the tears spilled down his cheeks. Steve ran his thumb along his cheekbone, trying to wipe them away, but they were coming too fast. His body was shaking.

Bucky gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Is it alright if I hold you?"

Tony looked to him and nodded, leaning into the larger man's side. Bucky was quick to wrap his arms around him, pulling him close. He pressed his face into the crook of the soldier's neck and let himself go, his shoulders shaking with each sob. He fell apart, and they stayed right there with him, murmuring reassurances and holding him close. Bucky rocked him gently as he hummed something soothing against him. He'd never let himself be vulnerable before. He didn't usually trust like this. He should have been scared, but he wasn't. It felt right.

Slowly, he calmed, feeling physically wrecked from the force of his breakdown and pulled away from Bucky's chest. The man's shirt was soaked from his tears and snot. It was gross. God, he hated crying.

"Sorry about your shirt."

Bucky gave him a gentle smile. "It'll wash. I'm more worried about you."

"I'm ... I don't know what I am." His voice was shaky.

Steve took Tony's hand. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Not unless you can stop the nightmares." Tony looked down at his hands. "It's probably gonna be a bad night."

"Yeah," Bucky said, carding his fingers through Tony's hair. "You know, if it would help, we could stay the night—just as friends—wake you up if things get bad. We could sleep on the floor, even."

Tony thought over his suggestion. He didn't want to be alone, but the changes between them were a lot to take in. It seemed like they were moving fast, and it scared him. He didn't know if he was ready for more. Sharing a room or a bed—even as friends—was a big leap. He just wasn't sure it was one he was ready to take.

Maybe sensing his uncertainty, Steve spoke, "It's no big deal. You don't need to stress over it. I can understand your hesitation. Can you have Friday wake you if it gets too bad instead?"

"Yeah, she can, but if it's alright, I wouldn't mind trying it with you guys here tonight—just as friends. I'm not ready for more yet, and that doesn't mean I'm not interested in more. It just means that I wanna go slow."

"That's no problem," Bucky said. "We ain't ever gonna push you, and if we ever make you feel like we have, I expect you put on your suit and kick the shit out of us."

Tony smiled. "I guess I should take my meds first and probably shower. I feel gross."

Steve ran his hand up and down his back. "How about I get you something to eat and grab your pills while you go shower?"

"That sounds like a plan," Tony said. "I'm not very hungry, though. Maybe just some toast."

Steve shook his head. "You need more than that. How about one of my protein drinks? I'd feel better knowing you got some calories into you."

He sighed. "Fine."

"If you're gonna drink one of those things, I suggest strawberry. The others taste like crap," Bucky supplied. "I don't know how Stevie drinks the chocolate ones."

"I'll try Strawberry."

Tony began getting together something to wear. He grabbed a pair of soft, flannel pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt to hide the scar on his arm. They both knew what he'd done but seeing it was a different story. That was something for another day. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He turned on the hot water until it nearly burned him and let the room fill with steam while he stripped. Once he was naked, he got a look at himself in the mirror—the ugly scars that marred his chest bright upon his pale skin.

He looked away when he turned toward the shower, not able to stomach the scars left from the whippings or the bite mark on his shoulder. Only Pepper had seen those scars, but she never pushed him to talk about them.

He made quick work of his shower. He just wanted in and out. After a quick rinse to get rid of the soap, he shut the water off and stepped out onto the mat, grabbing one of the oversized towels and drying off. He slipped on his boxers and the pajama pants, pausing to feel around the injection site. It was feeling a little better. He straightened his pants and then slipped on the shirt, making sure that the sleeves were down, hiding the scar on his arm.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Steve was back—the protein shake was on the nightstand and the pill sorter on the bed. They'd both taken their shoes off and looked to be making themselves comfortable. Something white caught on the nightstand caught his eye. It took him a moment to realize it was a first aid kit. He wondered what it was for.

Walking over to the bed, he picked up the sorter and dumped out the pills he needed into his hand. Steve handed him the shake, and Tony took it, popping the pills into his mouth and downing the chalky concoction as quickly as he could. His face twisted in a grimace at the after taste. He tossed the sorter on the dresser and turned back to face them.

"You guys drink those things on purpose?" Tony's face was still scrunched in disgust. "And if you thought this was a good flavor." He looked to Bucky. "I'm never trying the others."

Steve chuckled. "You get used to them," he said. "Super soldier metabolism. They are good for when you need some extra calories and protein but don't have the time." He grabbed the empty bottle from his hand, setting it back on the nightstand.

He heard Bucky clear his throat. He looked over to see him patting the bed beside him. "Come here. Let me see that hand."

Now he got why there was a first aid kit. It seemed a bit much for such a small wound. He'd had worse and left them to heal on their own, but he could see this was something Bucky needed to do. It was more than just dressing a wound—it was a way he could fix something, even if it was just putting on a bandage. It was something tangible.

He sat down beside Bucky, letting the man take his hand in his own. He turned it so he could see his thumb and the mess of the wound he had on it. It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't torn it open and dug into the flesh. The blister was long since gone, only a deep red wound remained. With gentle hands, Bucky laid Tony's hand in his lap and proceeded to dig through the medical kit—collecting the supplies he needed. For having large hands, his fingers were incredibly nimble. He had it cleaned and wrapped in a blink of an eye. When he was done, he lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the bandage.

"Next time you feel like hurting yourself, don't do this," Bucky said, tone serious. "Find me or Steve. We can always find time to talk or even spar. I don't want you doing this to yourself."

He nodded and watched as they cleaned up and put the first aid kit away. The meds were starting to make him feel sleepy. He yawned and stretched. It was late, and Dr. Cho was coming the next day. He wished he could cancel, but he knew it was probably for the best to see her.

"I think it's time we get you to bed," Steve said. "And don't worry, we're staying fully clothed. We're just here for support."

Tony nodded, forcing himself to wobbly feet and pulling back the blankets. He slid under the covers, curling onto his side. He grabbed a pillow and tried to get it comfortable under his head—without tugging at the lingering knot in his neck.

"You can sleep in the bed. It's … I think it'd be alright."

A moment past, then the bed dipped behind him. "Hey, doll," Bucky whispered. "Is it okay if I put my arms around you?"

He was never much for pet names—especially not someone calling him doll—but for some reason, he didn't mind it coming from Bucky. Instead of verbally answering, he reached back and grabbed his arm, pulling him closer.

The larger man wrapped his arms around him, one arm snaked under his head, like a solid pillow of muscle, and his metal arm resting on his waist. It felt warm and good, but he was missing something. He wanted Steve, too. No one could argue that Tony wasn't needy when he was stressed, tired, and a little bit drugged.

He lifted his head and tried to look over Bucky's broad shoulders.

"What's wrong?" Bucky whispered. "This okay?"

Tony blinked tiredly. "Where's Steve?"

He heard footsteps and then saw Steve coming around into view. "I'm right here. I just didn't want to crowd you."

Tony yawned. "You're not." He wriggled back against Bucky, liking how he fit neatly against him. "Plenty of room." He patted the space beside him. "Honestly, I'm still not sure this is real, so I figure I might as well just indulge myself while I can."

"It's not a dream," Steve said, climbing into bed beside him, laying on his side to face him. He brushed a few stray hairs from Tony's forehead. "Just close your eyes. We aren't going anywhere."

Real or not, Tony didn't care. He felt safe and warm—something he hadn't felt in a long time. Eventually, his eyelids became too heavy to keep open, and he drifted off to sleep. Maybe he didn't have to be alone after all.


	8. The Taste of Metal

**The Taste of Metal **

**A one shot based on Riding the Tiger**

Bucky held the pamphlet in his hand; his eyes were fixed on the words in bold print across the top—Electroconvulsive Therapy. There was a picture of a smiling woman on the front. It seemed wrong and so out of place. It wasn't like he was snooping when he found it. It had been sitting on a pile of folders in Tony's workshop. He really hadn't meant to pry when he read it.

_Electroconvulsive_.

The word caused him to feel sick to his stomach, broken memories of Hydra, of the chair and compliance coming back to his mind.

With shaky hands, he opened it, eyes skimming over the words before him, only bits and pieces sticking out to him—_electric current, memory loss_, _seizures_. His hands tightened around the too fragile paper, causing it to bend and buckle as it tore in his grasp.

His chest was too tight, and his body felt wrong—hot and cold at the same time. He may have been in the workshop of the compound, but his mind was not. His mind was back with Hydra, with the bite guards and the chair, with the metallic taste in his mouth and muscles that burned from seizing.

Visions of Tony strapped down as he convulsed flashed through his mind and bile rose in his throat. He fell forward, catching himself on the workbench, trying desperately to clear his mind. The battle against the rising tide of nausea was a losing one, though. It was just by sheer will power alone that he managed to pitch himself forward to the trashcan in time, grabbing it and hugging it to his chest as his stomach turned inside out.

He didn't understand—he couldn't understand—why anyone would ever willingly subject themselves to something so close to torture. What if it changed him? What if he forgot them? It was barbaric and wrong to think that this could even be a treatment—a _therapy_ as the pamphlet said. He needed to find Steve, show him, make him understand, and then together they could talk to Tony before it was too late.

Tossing the trashcan back on the floor with a clunk, he hurried from the workshop to find Steve. When he'd seen him last, he was sketching in the alcove by the garden windows.

He rounded the corner of the hall, hands clenched tight in fists. The bitter taste of bile still in his mouth, reminding him too sharply of what he'd learned. Steve was where he'd left him, lounging back in the oversized chair, sketchbook in hand as he smudged charcoal against the paper. He looked up at his approach, his eyebrows raised and face questioning. "Buck?"

Bucky couldn't seem to make himself answer, maybe it was the fear of what would happen if he tried. He was too close to the soldier within. He was too close to losing himself to the memories of the past, so instead, he charged forward with purposeful strides, the pamphlet in hand. He shoved it into Steve's chest, holding it there, looking at his bewildered friend, urging him to take it.

Steve's brow wrinkled in confusion, but he set the sketchbook down on his lap and took the pamphlet from Bucky's grasp. He smoothed the damaged paper, examining the front, emotions flickering fast across his face. Bucky watched silently as he flipped it open and began to read, his eyes darting back and forth, his lips parting ever so slightly in shock.

"Where did you get this, Buck?"

He wanted to answer, but he could feel himself beginning to dissociate. He clenched his jaw, trying to control himself. He was no good to anyone if he lost himself to his past. He'd been doing so well. He'd come so far but finding the pamphlet had brought it all back. He was losing himself again, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop himself from slipping away.

Reality began to shift, and he wasn't in the compound anymore. Pierce's voice floated into his mind, clear and commanding, triggering feelings he'd forgotten—the pride of a job well done, the twisted need to comply.

_Your work has been a gift to mankind._

His body went rigid as faces drifted in and out. There were Hydra agents around him, Pierce was looking at him with cold, hard eyes, cutting through him. He felt fear bubbling up within himself as he knew this memory. He knew what was to come.

_Prep him._

The panic joined his fear as he felt hands grabbing his arms. The chair was steps away, waiting and taunting, ready to strip away his memories again. He tried to yank himself away from the hands. He couldn't go back. He wouldn't.

_Wipe him._

The remembered being shoved back to the chair, a bite guard going in his mouth, pain searing through his every nerve. The familiar taste of metal as he seized, and then the emptiness.

_Ready to comply._

He felt lost—alone, but then a familiar voice began to whisper faintly in the recesses of his mind. It wanted him to come back—it was calling to him. He wanted to listen, but he was a soldier—_the soldier_. He needed to comply, but the voice, it just wouldn't stop. It didn't sound like his usual handlers. The voice was softer, kinder, yet still commanding. He almost thought that he recognized it from a dream.

The voice grew sharper and louder, more insistent. It kept repeating the same thing over and over.

_Bucky_ … _Bucky_ …

"Buck!"

His eyes snapped open, and he looked around the room, trying to place where he was. Steve was standing in front of him, hands gripping him, lines of worry etching his face. "Are you with me?"

He nodded, flexing his metal hand, making the plates of his arm readjust. "Yeah, just got lost for a minute."

Steve studied him for a moment but nodded, dropping his hands. "That hasn't happened in a while."

"No, I guess not," he said, taking in the space around him, confirming to himself he wasn't back with Hydra, that the chair was gone, and he was safe. He drew a breath, running a hand through his hair. "What were we talking about?"

"I asked you where you found the pamphlet."

He tensed as he recalled what he'd found—as earlier events came back to mind. "I found it in his workshop." His gaze locked on Steve. He needed him to understand how serious this was. "Did you read it? Did you see what he's considering? We can't let him do that to himself."

Steve glanced back at the folded paper and then back up to him. He pushed himself to stand, setting everything on the chair. He approached him carefully, cautiously, maybe seeing the feral glint he knew he had in his eye. "I read it. I didn't know he was considering anything like that, but it's not what you went through. It's not the chair, Buck. You know that, right? We read about this in the book Rhodey gave us. It really does help some people."

If he'd read about it, he didn't remember—maybe because he dismissed it as something that would never happen. He wouldn't let anyone hurt Tony like that. How could that be something safe or even legal? Why didn't Steve get it? Why wasn't he angry and scared? He wanted to throttle the punk for not understanding the severity of the situation.

His jaw ached from being clenched. "I can't believe you. I can't believe you're acting like this is okay. He wants to electrocute his brain, Stevie—his brain! Why aren't you upset about this? Don't you care what happens to him? Did you read the side effects?" He was shouting by the end and didn't care who could hear. He just needed to make Steve understand.

Steve put up his hands, tipping his head ever so slightly as he spoke. "Listen, Buck. I get you're upset, so I'm not gonna take the way you're acting personally, but you need to calm down. People might hear you. Tony might hear you." He paused, giving him an assessing look. Bucky scowled. "Look, you know I care just as much as you do, but did you really read that pamphlet or just see read the title and panic? Because if you read it, you'd know that it's not necessarily dangerous or bad. It's got risks, but it can be good, too."

"I don't want him going through that, Steve. He can't."

Steve sighed. "First, we don't even know if he is going through with it, and second, why not if it helps? What if it's what his doctor thinks he needs?"

Bucky stomped the few steps to Steve, jabbing a finger in his chest. "Then his doctor's a quack. This is the kind of shit they would do back in our day, not now. They're supposed to be smarter, better. Jesus, Steve, do you even get what you're defending?"

"This isn't our choice, Buck. Does he even know you found that?"

He looked away. "No, I came straight here."

"Well, we're gonna have to tell him, but first you need to calm down and get your head on straight. The only reason you're so against this is because of what Hydra did, plain and simple. I know it isn't fair, but you gotta try to find a way to look past what they did to you."

Bucky huffed. "This is such bullshit, and you know it. There has to be another way to help him."

"I'm not saying I like it, or I understand it completely, but I think we should both go talk to Tony. He deserves more than to have us out here talking like this."

He didn't want to make things worse. He knew he needed to calm down. He sighed, letting himself deflate a little. "Yeah, you're probably right, but don't let it go to your head. You're still a stupid punk."

They made a call to Friday and had her ask Tony to meet them in their bedroom. It was technically Tony's bedroom, but they had all been sharing it for some time now. Things were still progressing slowly, but it helped Tony through his nightmares to have them close, and they were happy to oblige.

Bucky paced the room while Steve sat on the bed, hands clasped in his lap. After about ten minutes of waiting, the bedroom door opened, and Tony stepped inside. His gaze quickly flitted between him and Steve, the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown. He closed the door behind him and turned to face them, his hands going to his pockets.

"So, you wanted to talk?" He sounded unsure, and Bucky felt like crap for making him feel that way. He knew how deep Tony's insecurities ran. "The other shoe finally dropping?"

Bucky's eyes snapped up to meet his. "We aren't leaving you, Tony. This isn't that kind of talk, but it doesn't mean you won't be angry with me after." He sighed. "This is about something else—something I didn't have a right to see, but I did."

Tony's brow furrowed, and he drew an audible breath. "Okay, that sounds suitably ominous. What did you find?"

He looked to Steve for support; his friend nodded for him to continue.

"I found a pamphlet in your workshop. I wasn't thinking when I picked it up, but once I did, I read it." He ran a hand through his hair, looking to Tony whose face was tense. "Please tell me that you're not serious, Tony. Tell me you aren't considering going through with something like that? You're talking about shocking your brain! I know what that does to a person better than anyone. Why would you even consider it? Why was it in your workshop?"

He watched Tony as he processed his words. He licked his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He rubbed at the five o'clock shadow on his face, still silent, his face etched with hard lines and difficult to read. They waited for him to respond, but he didn't. He just stood there, rigid and staring off at the wall.

Steve stood. "Tony, you don't have to explain yourself. Buck's just having a hard time with it is all. I think you can understand why."

Tony's gaze flicked to Steve. He stared at him for a moment before looking back at Bucky. He pulled his hands from his pockets, clenching them into fists at his sides. His shoulders were set tight, and his back was straight. He drew in a shaky breath before he spoke. "I get why you're upset, but you don't know what it's like living in my head. I just wanted to know my options. That's why it was there. That's why I had it."

Tony licked his lips nervously like he was considering something difficult. There was nothing to prepare Bucky for what he said next, though.

"Do you realize how many times a day I think about killing myself?" Tony asked. "How easy it would be? Pepper can be talking, and my mind just wanders, and a minute later, I'm calculating whether a fall from the window next to me would be enough to kill me. I can't take anti-depressants because they cause mania—no one will give them to me. I was considering ECT because I don't know what else to do. Because I'm telling you, Buck, I'm telling both you, I don't know how to do this—I can't do this."

"Tony …" Bucky didn't know what to say.

Tony shook his head. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about what's going on in my head. I didn't want to upset you. I was trying to protect you." His hands went to his hair, tugging at the roots. "Look where that got me. I still fucked it up." The man walked over to the sofa by the window, collapsing and putting his head in his hands, curling into himself.

It felt like his heart was getting crushed. He felt stupid for the way he'd reacted. He'd had no idea how Tony was feeling—that he was so desperate. The idea he thought so casually of ending his life terrified him to his core. He wished he could take his pain away and carrying it for him. He'd do it a thousand times over, and he knew Steve would, too.

Needing to comfort him, to do something, he crossed the room and crouched in front of him, putting a hand on his knee. He wanted to say something, but he was at a loss.

Steve walked over, taking a seat beside Tony. "Tony," he prompted. "Can you talk to us, please?"

He heard Tony sniffle, and it was then he realized the man was crying.

Tony lifted his head, his eyes red and lashes wet with tears. "Why won't it stop?" He sounded utterly broken, desperate. "I just want it to stop."

"Why won't what stop, doll?" Bucky reached out and wiped away a stray tear that rolled down his cheek.

Tony sucked in a breath. "My head. Lately it's been so bad. The things I think about. It's not good. I just wanted to find a way to make it stop. _I need it to stop_. I don't want to die, not really, but I can't stop thinking about the ways I could do it. What happens if I give in one day? What happens if it wears me down until I do?"

He heard Steve suck in a stuttering breath. They knew being with Tony would be hard, but it didn't make it any easier when it came to watching him struggle. He was in a battle against his mind, and they couldn't do anything other than stand beside him and watch the fight unfold, two of the world's strongest soldiers rendered useless.

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. "We won't let that happen. We won't let anything happen to you. If this thing you were looking into, if it can help, then maybe we should talk more about it."

Tony's eyes widened. "You mean that? You'd be okay with it?"

Bucky nodded. "It won't be easy, and I'd want to know everything about it before you did it, but yeah, anything if it helps you."

Steve cleared his throat. "And I think it might be time to talk to a therapist again, too, and maybe call the doctor, let her know how you're really doing."

Tony swallowed, his voice quiet when he spoke. "Yeah, I think you're probably right."

"We got big shoulders," Bucky said. "Don't forget that. You can always come to us—always."

"Bucky's right. Hearing what you said today—that scares the hell out of me," Steve said. "I don't want to lose you, but I can't help if I don't know what's going on. Please don't keep things like that to yourself anymore. If you are feeling like it's getting to be too much, find one of us—_find anyone_. We can't lose you."

Tony leaned into Steve's side, the larger man wrapping an arm around him. "I'll try."

Bucky gave Tony's leg a gentle squeeze. "That's all we're asking."


	9. Shovel Talks

**Shovel Talks**

**-One shot based on Riding the Tiger-**

Tony glanced over his shoulder when he heard Bucky's voice. "You're such a cheat, Rogers."

Bucky and Steve were sitting on either end of the couch in the workshop, legs drawn under themselves, faced off in some ridiculous game of cards they'd invented as kids. Tony was a genius and even he couldn't understand the rules. They involved things like arguing over who would cut the deck first—apparently not something you strategically wanted to do—to charging whoever played a six of clubs ten bucks for each of the cards in their hand—inflation Steve cited when Bucky complained. The rules also seemed to change and the games usually ended with Bucky out of money, a scowl on his face, and Steve raking in a pile of cash with a smirk plastered on his face.

Tony chuckled to himself, shaking his head and turning back to his work. He had a hologram of Rhodey's braces on display. He'd been trying to increase their responsiveness. It was something to pass the time. He was waiting for Helen to arrive. It was his monthly appointment with her. Even though psychiatry wasn't really her area of expertise, she studied up enough to help Tony, and when she had questions, she differed to a treatment team made up of psychiatrists for guidance. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. The truth was, he didn't care for most doctors, but Helen was different. He would almost call her a friend—though he doubted she saw him that way.

There was a thud and a yelp, and Tony turned to see Steve sprawled on the floor in front of the couch and Bucky looking down at him with a smirk.

"Teach you to cheat." Bucky plopped back onto the cushions. "Can't believe people buy that wholesome, boy scout bullshit of yours. You might've gotten older, but you're still the same little shit you always were."

Steve tossed his head back, laughing. "Love you, too, Buck."

Bucky rolled his eyes, balling up the throw blanket and tossing it at Steve. It bounced off his face, landing on the floor. Tony shook his head, enjoying the banter between them. It was a good distraction from his impending appointment.

And then Friday interrupted, bringing him back to reality. "Boss, Doctor Cho has arrived. Would you like me to direct her to the workshop?"

Steve looked over at him, pushing himself to his feet, and Bucky's brow furrowed.

Tony swallowed his nerves. "Yeah, send her down."

Bucky climbed off the couch to stand beside Steve. "You want us to go? We don't want to intrude."

"Buck's right. It's no problem for us to leave."

Tony considered for a moment. He was normally a very private person, only Pepper and Rhodey had been around to speak to his doctors before. It was a big step to include Steve and Bucky, one he wasn't sure he was ready to make. It was one thing for them to know what he went through, but it was another for them to see the evidence, to hear it for themselves. He wanted to trust that they wouldn't think differently of him, but it was hard not to worry a little. Though maybe it would help them understand, give them a chance to ask questions and ease some of their concerns—or maybe it would just make them more concerned.

Drawing a breath and rubbing a hand over his face, he looked to them. "You can stay. I think it might be good. I mean, you should know what's going on." He paused. "And if you have questions, you can ask."

"If you're sure." Steve's gaze was scrutinizing, likely searching for the lie in his words.

Tony rubbed his palms against the denim of his jeans. "Yeah, it's what I want."

Bucky nodded. "Okay, we'll stay."

The workshop door opened, and Doctor Cho walked in, heels clicking on the tile, folder tucked under her arm. She smiled at Steve and Bucky. "Afternoon, it's good to see you again, Steve, Bucky." She nodded to them. They greeted her back, moving out of the way as she made her way to the table in the center of the workshop, setting down her folder and turning to Tony, her head tilting to the side as she gave him a small smile. "Tony."

He was not ready for the appointment, but he knew he needed it—things had been rough lately. The intrusive thoughts, his moods shifting fast, it wasn't a good sign. He'd been doing pretty good about taking his medication, only missing his sleeping pills here and there because _nightmares_, which he thought was more than reasonable explanation. It was just frustrating that he wasn't getting better. His friends, his family—they shouldn't have to deal with the human disaster that he was.

"Hey, Doc." Tony greeted her with a weak smile. "So, just so you know, these two popsicles here will be staying for our appointment." He gestured to the two soldiers who both looked a little nervous. It made him wonder if this was a good idea, but there was no going back now. "And since there no point in beating around the bush, I might as well tell you. We, as in the three of us, are dating, so there's that. Any questions?"

Helen's eyebrows rose, and she nodded her head. "Okay, you never do stop surprising me, Tony. I suppose if you're happy then that's all that matters, but"—she turned to face Steve and Bucky—"as Tony's friend, I want you to know that if your motives are nefarious in any way, if you hurt him, you'll be facing me, and trust me, I may be petite, but science is amazing. I can be creative. Keep that in mind." She looked back to Tony, a smile on her face. "That said, let's talk. How are you, Tony?"

He huffed a laugh at the looks on his boyfriends' faces. They probably hadn't been expecting to receive the Shovel Talk from Helen. Honestly, Tony was a bit surprised by her speech. He'd considered her a colleague, respected her as a doctor, but it touched him that she saw him as a friend.

He shrugged a shoulder, leaning back on the counter, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. "You got my message. I'm sure Pepper called you, too. I don't know what else you want me to say. Things could be better."

She grabbed a stool and sat, pulling the file she brought with her over and opening it, flipping through the pages. She sighed, looking back to Tony. "How are you sleeping?"

Tony looked off at the wall behind her, not making eye contact. "I'm getting more than I used to."

She shook her head. "So, not much." It wasn't a question.

Steve cleared his throat. "Can I say something?"

Helen and Tony both looked at him. She looked curious while Tony glared daggers. He didn't need commentary from the peanut gallery.

"The better I can understand what's going on, the better I can help."

Steve nodded, giving an apologetic smile to Tony. "He's not really sleeping that well. He's fitful at best. Nightmares are pretty common, and getting him to bed at all has been a struggle. I think having us around has helped, but he's still not getting enough rest."

Tony scowled. "Thanks, just throw me under the bus."

"Stevie's only trying to help, babe. We all know it's the truth. How can you get better if you aren't honest?" Bucky asked.

Tony rolled his eyes, huffing a breath. "Whatever, so what? I'm not sleeping great. Have I ever? It's not a big deal."

Helen looked at Tony. "You know how important sleep is for you. Are you taking your Ambien?"

Tony considered lying, but seeing as Captain America was listening and willing to jump in to correct him, he decided against it. "When I take it, I sleep, but that means nightmare, so yeah, not interested."

She nodded, looking thoughtful. "How would you feel about trying something for the nightmares? There's a medication that can treat PTSD related nightmares. It's not always effective, but it might be worth a shot."

Tony's shoulders straightened, and he shifted his stance. "What's the catch?"

"Like all medications, there are side effects, and with this, there's a chance that it could do the opposite, it could make insomnia worse and make the nightmares more severe. For those it helps, it works great."

"Pretty big catch. I think I'll pass."

She sighed but nodded. "Okay, I won't force you, but I am telling you that you need to make sleep a bigger priority." She looked at Steve and Bucky. "I hope that you two can help with that."

They both nodded, giving their agreement. Just what Tony wanted, his boyfriends feeling like they needed to babysit him. He hated this part of having a mental illness—the part where people treated you like you needed to be watched-like you needed a sitter.

"Can I say something?" Bucky looked at Tony.

He shrugged and waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, go ahead."

"I don't know what message Tony left with you, what he said, but I know what he said to us recently, and I think you should know. He said some pretty scary stuff, stuff that I'm worried about, stuff about ending his life. I'm more worried about that than about him getting sleep." He looked apologetic. "Sorry, Tony."

Tony sighed. "It's alright, Buck, I already let her know, more or less." And he had, he had just not said it so bluntly, or maybe it just sounded worse coming from someone else.

"Are you feeling suicidal?" Helen asked.

Tony shrugged. It was a loaded question, and one that he knew if he answered wrong, he could get himself locked up for a week. He didn't need that on top of everything else he was dealing with right now.

"I wouldn't say I want to die, but it's there, in my head. The thoughts just appear. I don't know what to say. I feel scattered and messed up. I don't feel that bad, but at the same time, I can't stop thinking some pretty fucked up shit."

"And you're taking all your other meds?"

"Yes!" God, he hated that question.

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I'm going to step out and call Doctor Whitaker, confirm what I'm thinking. I'll be right back." She picked up the folder and made her way out of the workshop.

He slumped back against the counter, closing his eyes and running a hand over his mouth. He heard footsteps approaching, and he opened his eyes to see Bucky's concerned face, his brow pinched, and the corners of his mouth turned down. The soldier brought up his flesh hand and pressed his palm to the side of Tony's neck, rubbing his thumb back and forth over his jawline. Tony leaned into the touch, letting the warmth of his hand soothe him.

He closed his eyes again and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Bucky's shoulder as his boyfriend brought his hand around to cup the back of his neck, rubbing gently. Tony's hands gripped Bucky's hips.

"This sucks," Tony pouted. "I hate doctors."

Bucky hummed, pressing a kiss to his hair. "I'm sorry. This can't be easy. I didn't mean to make things worse by asking questions, but we're worried. I don't want anything to happen to you."

Tony made a noise somewhere near a grunt, frustrated with the situation. He spoke into Bucky's chest, "Can we do more of this tonight? I'm feeling the strong need for cuddles."

"Anything you want," Bucky replied, running his other hand up and down Tony's back.

"Feels good." Tony melted into him. "I don't want more medications."

He heard Steve sigh. "Try not to worry about it. Let's see what she says."

Tony didn't respond. He didn't need to be psychic to know that Helen was discussing changing his meds. Doctor Whitaker was a good guy, an expert in his field, that's why Tony hired him, but that didn't change that he was a doctor and his history with them wasn't good. He wished he could just get back on track, get his moods back in check. It was draining in so many ways to be symptomatic. He was tired of it.

He heard the workshop door open and felt Bucky turn his head to see who it was. Bucky pressed another kiss to his hair and gave him a gentle squeeze before pulling away. Tony sighed. It was time to face the music then and hear the verdict. Bucky moved to stand off to the side with Steve, and Tony took a steadying breath. Helen smiled at him and put the folder back on the table.

"So, I spoke to the lead, and we think that from the sound of things, it might be worthwhile to adjust your meds, but we're hesitant to change anything in pill form as we know there's a chance you won't take them as prescribed."

Her words were straight forward and made him flinch. He couldn't deny it all he wanted, but he knew deep down she was right.

Her expression softened, and she sighed. "Since we need to do something, Doctor Whitaker would like to try increasing the frequency of your injections. I'll give you one every three weeks instead of four. We'll keep everything else the same. How does that sound?"

Tony pursed his lips, folding his arms over his chest. He was going to argue, go on the defensive, then he glanced at Bucky and Steve and saw their faces, the concern and caring there. Tony felt some of his anger fade. They were doing everything to be supportive and understanding, and what kind of boyfriend was he if he didn't try to ease some of the burden on them by playing along.

Relaxing, he dropped his arms to his sides. He shook his head, not believing the words he was about to say. "Yeah, sure, why not? I like being a zombie—life goal achieved."

"Tony." Steve's voice was soft but still chiding.

He dropped his shoulders and sighed. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I won't lie. This isn't something I want to do, but I'm willing to try it, I guess. If it helps with the thoughts, then maybe it won't be so bad."

"It should help. If it doesn't … Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, I'm sure you're ready to get me out of your hair. Do you have your injection?"

He nodded. "Yeah, hang on." He turned and opened the drawer behind him, pulling out the rectangular box that contained his monthly injection. He passed it to her and watched as she opened it and began prepping it. She took out a pair of gloves and a few other supplies from her pocket.

Putting on the gloves, she spoke, "You ready? I think we're doing the right side this month."

Tony sucked in a breath but turned and tugged the edge of his pants down enough for her to give the shot. He felt himself tensing already, and he knew it would only make it more painful. He tried to breathe and relax, but it wasn't working.

"Tony," Helen said. "Shift your weight and let that leg relax. Don't tense. Lean against the counter for support."

He was about to remark when a warm hand began massaging his neck. He looked over to see Steve. "Hey, just focus on me, okay?"

He gave a quick nod, and then he heard Helen's heels click as she took a few steps forward. There was a quick swipe of an alcohol pad and then a pinch. He managed to stay focused on Steve's hand and keep himself relaxed. He felt her stick a band-aid over the site and he tugged up his pants.

Steve dropped his hand, but he was smiling. "You did good."

"Not sure I did that much but thanks."

Helen scratched a few notes in his file, and after a few more questions, she said her goodbyes and left the workshop with a promise to return in three weeks.

Steve sucked in a breath. "So, what do you want to do? It's early, but we could watch a movie—maybe even see if the others are interested. We could all watch something together." He wrapped an arm around Tony's waist.

He didn't feel like doing much, but maybe a movie wouldn't be too bad. He wasn't sure about involving the team, though. He still hadn't told them about his health, and they hadn't shared their relationship status officially yet, either. Those were two things he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with.

He must have been thinking too long as Steve squeezed him. "Or we don't have to."

"What Steve said." Bucky walked over and grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. He came back to stand against the opposite counter, taking a drink. "It's not easy keeping our hands off you and people might notice when we're all more than friendly. You haven't mentioned wanting to tell them yet, so ..."

It was going to come out one way or another. It was only a matter of time, and it would make their lives easier to get it over with. Pretending you aren't involved isn't easy, especially when you have two ridiculously attractive boyfriends with fuck me eyes.

Sighing, he glanced between his boyfriends. "You know if we out this thing between us, Pepper and Rhodey might kill you two. They're overprotective, to say the least. You'll probably have to wear a cup around Pepper for a while and don't underestimate Rhodey."

Bucky shrugged with a smirk. "It's alright with me. What about you, Stevie?"

Tony looked to Steve, whose arm was still around him. He shrugged. "Can't say I've gotten many shovel talks in my time, seeing as I've always been stuck with that jerk, but I think I can handle it." He smiled at Tony.

Tony clapped his hands together. "Well, then it's settled. Let's do this."

They made their way up to the common floor, but rather than walking separately, Tony held Bucky's hand, and Steve walked on his other side, hand on the small of Tony's back. Friday had told them that Rhodey, Sam, and Natasha were in the living room, and Tony never did things halfway. If they were going to announce their relationship, then they were going to leave no one guessing.

They strolled into the room together, pausing in front of the others. Steve's hand slid to Tony's hip.

Rhodey looked from his tablet, his face contorting before his gaze darted between Tony and the men at his sides. His eyes seemed to narrow as he took in the way he held Bucky's hand and the placement of Steve's. His eyes settled on Steve, though, hard and cold. There was wrath written into his features, and Tony was grateful that it wasn't directed at him. He felt bad for Steve, but a small part of him was amused and wanted to see it play out. Tony knew deep down that Rhodey wouldn't stand in the way. If this was what Tony wanted, what made him happy, Rhodey would support him, but that didn't mean he wouldn't grill Steve and Bucky first.

"You didn't!" Rhodey was pushing himself to his feet, dropping his tablet in the chair behind him. "Tell me you didn't take what I said and run with it after I told you he wasn't ready!"

"He's right here." Tony raised his free hand, along with his eyebrows. "In case you missed me."

Rhodey pointed his finger at Tony. "Don't even think you aren't gonna get an earful from me, too, but right now it can wait. I need to kick Captain America's ass first."

Natasha and Sam both turned their full attention to the shit show that was going down. Natasha looked pleased as she took in the sight of them together, and Sam looked amused.

"I can't believe Clint's missing this." Sam shook his head. "He's gonna be pissed. We had a bet how long before they finally fessed up."

Rhodey's gaze snapped to Sam. "Wait, what? You knew about them, and you didn't tell me?"

Sam shrugged. "Sorry, I thought you knew. I mean, didn't you find it weird that they followed each other around like puppies and then there's the fact I saw Barnes coming out of Tony's room last week—first thing in the morning."

"How did I not know this?"

Natasha shrugged with a smirk. "It's not all your fault. You haven't been here as much, but then again, I don't know how you missed the dopey looks that Steve keeps sending at Tony."

Steve lifted both his arms, raising his hands in surrender, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "I really am sorry we didn't tell you sooner. We wanted some time to settle into things first—before the questions started."

Rhodey let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. He raised his brows, waving a hand, gesturing between them. "I need to think about this. I'm not saying it's a bad thing. I just need to wrap my head around it." He looked at Tony. "You never do things halfway. You're taking overachieving to new heights, you know. One wasn't good enough, huh? You needed both?"

"You know you still love me—even when I'm naughty." Tony batted his lashed dramatically. "You forgive me for not telling you sooner?"

Rhodey huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He eyed the three of them. "If it makes you happy, that's all I care about, but I'm not telling Pepper. That's all you." He gave a pointed look to Steve and Bucky. "Remember, if you hurt him, fuck him over in any way—"

"Yes, you'll go all caveman on their asses. Got it." Tony said. "We know. Now that this is out of the way, how about a movie?"

They all settled onto the couches and chairs. Tony, Steve, and Bucky had a couch to themselves. Tony's hip was starting to get sore from the shot, but he managed to find a way to lay between them. He arranged with his head on Bucky's leg and feet in Steve's lap. Bucky carded fingers through his hair as Steve rubbed his feet. He quickly forgot about the injection and let his worries melt away. Rhodey chose the movie—citing that he should get some say in something around there.

He was just starting to drift off to the sound of the TV when he heard footsteps followed by a curse. He looked up to see Clint looking flabbergasted.

"I was gone for half an hour! I demand a redo. Tell me Friday recorded it!"

Sam chuckled. "Sorry, man. You owe me twenty."

"Fuck."

Natasha chuckled. "After that little mix up in Bogotá, I would have thought you'd be over gambling,"

Tony lifted his head to get a better angle on the room, trying to look to Natasha. "What's this about Bogotá?"

A smile curled over her lips. "Oh, that is a very good story."

"Don't you dare."

She laughed. "Your secrets safe with me—for now."

He narrowed his eyes. "Nat."

She patted the seat beside her. "Come on, sit. We're watching a movie and waiting to see if Pepper calls. She doesn't know yet. They told us first."

Clint looked to Sam. "Ten bucks says she threatens to use a stapler on Barnes' balls."

Sam nodded his head, pointing at him. "I got twenty that says she threatens Cap with his own shield."

Natasha raised a brow. "What about Tony?"

Tony huffed a laugh, getting comfortable again. "My balls are safe. She loves me. Just like my Rhodey Bear does."

A throw pillow went flying from Rhodey's direction, smacking him in the head. "Of course, I do, but that doesn't mean we're not talking later."

Tony grumbled, grabbing the pillow and holding it to his chest. "Just for that, you're not getting your pillow back."

Telling the team hadn't been nearly as bad as he thought. He still had to talk to Pepper, but he knew, like Rhodey, she would be okay with it. She might want to know why he didn't tell her sooner, but she'd support him—she always did. It gave him hope that the talk they needed to have about his health would go just as easy—though he knew hope was a dangerous thing. It was risking it all telling them what was really going on. He liked what they had now, sitting around and laughing. It felt good. He worried that when the time came to talk, they would look at him differently, treat him differently. It was his biggest fear, being pitied, or worse, rejected. He knew he shouldn't, but as Tony lay there with his friends, his family, he let himself hope, just a little.

xXx

Each tick of the clock seemed to echo in the room. Steve's gaze settled on the second hand as it made its jerky route around the face, looking as twitchy and hesitant as he felt. He was sitting in a too-small chair in Pepper's office at the compound, Bucky beside him. He wondered if she'd purposely had the chairs brought in for them, just to add to their discomfort. There was a soft rustling of fabric as Bucky bounced his knee to an uneven rhythm. Clearly, Steve wasn't the only one with nerves.

She'd kept them waiting for over twenty minutes, and though she hadn't said what the meeting was for, they both had their suspicions. When they'd asked Tony if he knew, he'd simply said 'spoilers' and walked off. When they'd passed Rhodey on the way to her office, he'd muffled a laugh and shook his head, murmuring 'good luck.'

So, there they sat in her office, waiting.

Bucky cleared his throat. "She's not enhanced, is she?"

Steve's brow pinched, recalling reading something in Tony's file about Pepper. His face scrunched in uncertainty. "I don't think so?"

Bucky huffed. "Reassuring."

The door clicked open, and they both turned to see Pepper walking into the room, each step confident and full of grace. She raised a brow as she passed them, giving them a once over. Pepper hummed to herself as she put her tablet away and pulled out her chair, taking a seat behind her impressive desk. She folded her hands on the desk in front of her, looking over each of them in turn.

Steve swallowed nervously under her gaze. He needed to make this work. They needed her approval.

She drew a breath and adjusted her posture, straightening her shoulders. "Let's get right down to business. I hear you want to date Tony."

"I think we're already past wanting to," Steve said, feeling his palms begin to sweat.

"What the punk is trying to say is, we've been dating for a while now."

She raised her brows and leaned back in her chair. "As I said, you want to date Tony. I think you know that when it comes to Tony, I am fiercely protective. I once turned into a raging fire monster to protect him. I may not have those powers now, but trust me, boys, I can be creative. Have I ever told you Natasha and I work out together on weekends?" She tipped her head to the side. She reminded him of a cat toying with its prey.

"Didn't know that." Steve wiped his palms on his khakis.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, and there's a lot you don't know about Tony. Are you ready to commit to all his quirks and hidden problems? It won't be easy." She paused to pick up the letter opener by the lamp, twirling it in her fingers. She locked eyes with Steve. "Because if you aren't serious, then I'm afraid I can't approve. Remember, I was there after Siberia. I got a front-row seat to his unraveling, and it's not something that I want to see again. He might not survive another round with you."

A sudden wave of guilt hit him, and he sucked in a breath. No matter what he did, it couldn't change the fact that he had left Tony in that bunker. Even if Tony had forgiven him, Pepper still had feelings about what happened, and he couldn't blame her. It was one of his worst moments. It should never have happened like it did.

Steve licked his lips. "I know it's just words, but I mean it when I say, I won't hurt him like that again—ever again. Neither of us will. I hope in time you can see that."

"And what's changed to make me believe that?"

"That I love him—just as much as I do Buck."

"And he's not the only one. I love him, too," Bucky said. "I couldn't hurt him. I wouldn't."

She kept her expression blank for a minute, studying them before a small smile broke on her lips. "Okay." She set the letter opener down, leaning forward. "Then I suppose I should say congratulations."

Steve's brows rose in surprise. "Really? That's it?"

She nodded. "That's it. What were you expecting? Me to assault you with office supplies?"

Bucky laughed. "Well, there was this bet."


	10. The Silence of Fighting

**The Silence of Fighting**

**-One shot based on Riding the Tiger-**

The boxes had arrived from storage weeks ago, and Tony had meant to go through them—sort out the junk from anything useful. The stuff was all packed away years prior. It was from the time in his life when he was at his worst, self-medicating with booze and drugs. He wasn't proud of who he was then or the things he created. The content of those boxes was a harsh reminder of who he'd been—a man who profited from death. Some of his greatest weapons designs were squirreled away in there. He'd never look at them again if it weren't for Pepper wanting to organize the mess.

And that's how he found himself sitting on the couch in his workshop, a stack of boxes against the wall and one open at his feet. His gaze was locked on the contents, though—nothing else. Laying there like it was mocking him, rested something he hadn't seen in years. It was the prototype for a handgun—a design of his father's that he'd redone. He'd upgraded to make it more efficient—deadlier and more devastating in every way. Paired with the right ammunition, it had an unbeatable stopping force and was incredibly accurate. Everything something meant to kill should be.

His eyes traced along the lines of the black metal—from the grip to the sights, and down to the trigger. It was well crafted. Some of his finer work. His mind began to wander, though, the longer he stared. His mind recalled the specs on the gun—its trigger pull weight, the force of its recoil. It was both morbid and fascinating to think how easy it would be to end it, right then and there. He just needed some ammo if it wasn't already loaded. It would be so easy. It was like it was taunting him—daring him to touch. He wasn't suicidal, though, not really. It was just he couldn't chase away the twisted thoughts.

Reaching down, he brushed his fingers over the textured grip before picking it up. He weighed it in his hand. It was too light to be loaded—probably. With practiced ease, he dropped the clip and checked it—empty. He pulled back the slide and checked the chamber—empty as well. Popping the clip back in place, he took a moment to study it closer—his mind still echoing dangerous thoughts and desires.

Even though he knew it was empty, his heart still skipped a beat as he slipped his finger over the trigger—not squeezing, just feeling it, giving himself a little taste of what his thoughts were suggesting.

Suddenly, the door to his workshop opened without warning, causing him to jump, but he kept the gun in his hand. He wondered why Friday hadn't warned him. He looked up to see Steve and Bucky pushing into the room, their expressions tight and a bit feral. Tony's brows pinched together, wondering what was going on and then he saw that neither of his boyfriends were looking at him, but rather, the gun in his hand.

Feeling exposed and caught, Tony slid his finger off the trigger but didn't put it down. He licked at his lips, adjusting his grip—the gun suddenly feeling much heavier than its metal allowed. His gaze flicked down to the gun and back to his boyfriends, his lips pursing. This wasn't good.

"Tony," Bucky said, voice strained, his eyes looking between the gun and Tony's face. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "What's going on?"

Tony watched them both for a moment—Steve looked ready to lunge for the gun at any moment, while Bucky just looked nervous and heartbroken.

His own emotions were becoming a chaotic mess he couldn't untangle. Guilt mixed with shame and frustration as it danced with the edges of anger. He didn't even know why he was angry or who at—maybe at himself.

His jaw twitched as it tightened, the intrusive thoughts from earlier gone. The only thing on his mind now was the looks of concern and disappointment on Bucky and Steve's faces.

Clearing his throat, he glanced down at the gun for a moment, realizing then his hand was shaking. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. His eyes snapped back to meet Bucky's, taking in the touch of panic there.

"It's nothing," Tony explained. "I was just going through some old things—Pepper's idea. Cleaning out some of our storage."

Steve's hands twitched at his sides. "The gun, Tony. Friday called us down."

Ah, well that explained it. He'd forgotten the protocols in place for things like this—for when it looked like he was a danger to himself.

His mind wandered for a moment, gaze falling back to the gun. Had he been a danger to himself? What if it'd been loaded? Would he still have dared to touch the trigger? His thumb stroked the grip, feeling the rough texture slide beneath it. Sighing, he looked back to Steve, noticing he was closer, his posture still tense and his eyes sharp—he looked ready to react.

"I'm not going to kill myself—if that's what you think."

He leaned back into the cushion, gun still in hand, resting on his leg. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes. The day really wasn't going as he'd imagined it. Hushed footsteps made him drop his hand from his eyes, and he looked to see Steve crouching in front of him. The soldier kept his eyes locked on Tony's face, the blue that usually held warmth and happiness just looked afraid yet determined. With careful movements, and not looking away, Steve reached out and wrapped his fingers around Tony's wrist, securing the hand holding the gun in his own.

For a moment no one moved, but then Bucky bent at the waist, reaching down and grasping the gun. Tony let it slip from his fingers with no resistance. He didn't really want it anyway.

With a grace that only an assassin could have, Bucky checked it and then tucked it into the back of his pants. Steve pushed himself to his feet and then took a seat beside Tony on the couch.

Bucky followed suit on the other side, turning slightly to face him. He placed a hand on Tony's knee. "It wasn't loaded."

A statement and question all in one.

Tony shook his head a little. "No. I wasn't planning on anything. I just … I wanted to feel it in my hand—to know what it might feel like."

"Jesus," Steve cursed. His hand was still holding Tony's wrist, his grip tightening slightly. "I don't know what to say. I thought—seeing you with a gun. When Friday called, I thought you'd given up."

Tony closed his eyes, taking a breath to steady himself. He didn't know how to explain what it was like—why he'd picked it up, why he didn't put it down. It had been so many things to hold it—soothing and frightening yet intoxicating, too. There was a power there when he held it—even if deep down, he didn't want to die. It was just the idea that he could if he wanted.

Opening his eyes, Tony tried to explain. "I don't want to die. I made sure it wasn't loaded." His explanation fell flat even to his ears. "I was just looking at it, thinking."

Bucky's hand slipped into his own, and Tony looked down at where their hands were joined before looking to his face. It was hardened with emotion like he was holding himself back from either falling apart or raging out. Tony could understand both reactions.

Bucky squeezed his hand. "Seeing you like that, I thought my heart stopped beating. I forgot what it felt like to breathe."

Tony sighed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't going to kill myself. I didn't even have bullets."

"That's not reassuring, Tony," Steve said. "What if you had? Where did it even come from?"

"Steve," Bucky warned. "Take it easy."

Tony pulled his wrist free from Steve's grip and then ran a hand through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He looked back to the man, seeing the mixture of emotion on his face. He knew he couldn't lie. "Honestly, I don't know what would've happened, but I don't want to die. I really don't know what I was thinking. It was just there in the box—it was something I designed years ago that'd been in storage."

Bucky's thumb rubbed back and forth over the back of his hand. "So, you didn't go looking for it?"

Tony's face twisted at the suggestion, drawing back from Bucky, anger brushing against him. He tried to tug his hand away, but Bucky held tight. "No. I didn't. I just got caught up in my head. Something about it—I just wanted to see what it felt like in my hand. I told you. I wasn't trying to kill myself."

Bucky flinched at his tone. Maybe he'd been too harsh, too defensive, but it wasn't like he'd planned to find the gun. It had just happened. He didn't need them thinking he had been hiding a gun or had crazy plans.

"Hey, no one's mad, alright?" Bucky said, ducking his head, so he was in Tony's eye line. "Just relax. We're only trying to understand."

Bucky's tone was soft, and it caused his hackles to fall. Tony relaxed his shoulders, letting himself sag back into the couch. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. Sorry."

Steve rested a hand on Tony's thigh. "Should we call Pepper or Rhodey?"

Shaking his head, he sighed. "I'd rather not, but then again, Friday probably already alerted one or both."

"I've been keeping them apprised of the situation, Boss," his AI chimed in. "Ms. Potts will be here tonight and requests that someone stays with you until she arrives."

He let out a groan of frustration and rubbed a hand over his mouth. This was a mess. He didn't blame Pepper for wanting to check in on him, especially after how she'd found him nearly dead in the past. It didn't mean it was any less stressful. "Thanks, girl. Even though I'm annoyed, I'm not mad at you."

"My only desire is to keep you safe, Boss."

"I know."

Bucky reached over and brushed his fingertips through Tony's hair, sweeping the few stray strands from his brow. The touch was so light it tickled his forehead, and he scrunched his brow.

Bucky smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "There's something I've never said out loud, something I think I should."

Tony turned his head, looking to Bucky, who had returned to letting his fingers gently brush through his hair. His face looked marred by something painful. "I know it's not exactly the same, but you should know, there have been times I've done the same thing—just held a gun and wondered."

The confession weighted the air in the room, quiet except for the sharp intake of Steve's breath. "Buck—"

Bucky shook his head, cutting him off. "Let me get this out, Stevie."

Tony squeezed Bucky's hand. "Hey, take your time. We're not going anywhere."

Bucky nodded, sucking in a breath. "It was mostly while I was on the run—when I was hiding from everyone, hiding from myself." The emotion was thick in his voice. "Sometimes, I would just imagine how much easier it would be if I didn't exist. I'd just sit there thinking, getting lost in my head."

Tony turned his hand in Bucky's, wiggling his fingers, so they were laced with his. His gaze met his and what he saw made him feel like he'd been sucker-punched. There was so much pain and hurt swirling in his eyes.

He had so many things he wanted to say, to ask. He was desperate to have someone who understood. "Do you still imagine it?" he whispered. "What it would be like to not exist?"

Bucky pursed his lips. He looked to Steve and then back to Tony, giving a hesitant nod, his hair falling around his eyes. "Not often, but sometimes—when I think about what I've done."

"Buck." Steve reached over, tangling his fingers in Bucky's hair, thumb rubbing against his temple. "Why didn't you say something?"

Bucky shrugged, looking down. "I didn't know what to say, and really, I don't deserve peace. I deserve to suffer for what I did. I've hurt so many people."

Tony had to suppress a growl of frustration. If he could understand Bucky wasn't the same man as the weapon Hydra had created, then Bucky damn well sure better get with the program. Tony pushed himself up and twisted to face his boyfriend, noting the pain etched on his face. Guilt washed over him as he realized he'd probably triggered Bucky to relive his trauma.

Pushing the guilt aside, he focused on setting Bucky straight. "You don't think what has been done to you, what you've been through, is suffering enough? You are not what they made you, and if you think for one minute that you deserve to suffer, then so do I."

Bucky head snapped up and his eyes locked with Tony's. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tony pressed two fingers against his lips as he shook his head. "Shush. You need to listen."

The soldier pressed his lips together, his jaw moving as he tensed, but he didn't go to speak, so Tony let his fingers drop from his lips.

Taking a breath, he continued, "You need to understand. The shit I've built, the weapons I've sold, they've killed thousands. Since my father's time, hundreds of thousands—probably even more. You don't deserve to suffer. If you really want to believe you do, then be prepared. I will be suffering with you. I'll let my own demons free."

Bucky's jaw twitched, his lips pursing. His gaze bounced back and forth between Tony and Steve. Finally, after a few beats of silence, Bucky let out a breath, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Okay."

Tony nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Okay. Good." He reached up, cupping Bucky's cheek. The man turned his head into his hand, closing his eyes and nuzzling against it.

"How about we make a deal?" Tony asked.

Bucky hummed, opening his eyes to look at him.

"If either of us starts going down that road from now on, we call the other."

The soldier pressed his hand against Tony's, holding his hand to his cheek. With a gentle touch, he slid Tony's hand down and pressed a kiss to his palm. "Deal."

He felt Steve shift behind him and then get to his feet, kicking the box out of the way. Both he and Bucky looked up to see him crouch in front of them, a watery smile on his face. He reached out a hand to each of them, twining his fingers in their hair, his expression open and soft.

Tony could feel the warmth radiating from his palm. He found himself turning into it. "Sorry, we're such a mess."

Bucky chuckled, taking Steve's hand and pressing a kiss to his palm as well before lacing their fingers together and holding it to his chest. "What he said."

It was Steve's turn to laugh, his smile turning genuine. "Yeah, but you're my messes, so I'll take it."


	11. Kiss it and Make it Better

**Kiss it and Make it Better**

**-one shot based on Riding the Tiger-**

It was late, and Tony had spent most of the day in his workshop. He hadn't even realized so much time had passed until Steve came to find him.

"You know it's almost ten," Steve said, moving to stand behind him. His fingers trailed up Tony's side, sending a shiver through him. "I thought we were going to spend some time together tonight."

He sighed, reaching around and catching Steve's hand, lacing their fingers together. He hummed as he leaned back into Steve's body, enjoying the warmth radiating off him. "Sorry, there's still time. Bucky's not upset, is he?"

Steve wrapped his other arm him, pulling him tighter to his chest, leaning down and pressing his lips to Tony's neck. He nipped and sucked at the skin there. "He's fine." His breath ghosted over his flesh. "Sent me to find you, actually, bring you back."

Goosebumps spread over him, his breath stuttering, as Steve mouthed over his neck, lips brushing warm and soft against him. Tony made a noise low in his throat, his mouth going dry as his body reacted to the touch. Steve chuckled, warm breath sending a shiver through him as it brushed against his neck. "Have I made you forget about your project yet?"

Tony closed his eyes, leaning back and letting Steve take some of his weight. "Mm … food and a movie sound good."

Steve hummed, his mouth back on the sensitive skin of his neck. "Good," he breathed against him. Tony was pretty sure the little shit was smiling.

It didn't take long to close out his projects and then they were off to Tony's room. Bucky was stretched out on the bed, barefoot, wearing sweats and tank top, his arms crossed behind his head as he watched TV. He looked like he'd just showered, his hair still damp, tucked back behind his ears. He smirked, turning and pushing up on an elbow when they approached. "I was worried you'd forgot."

Tony toed off his shoes, kicking them to the side toward the dresser. "Sorry, I lost track of time."

Steve walked past, pulling open the dresser and grabbing a t-shirt. Tony's gaze lingered on him as he stripped off his old shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. He couldn't help but let his eyes map the lines of Steve's chest and stomach, the way everything seemed to lead his gaze to the perfect v of his hips.

Steve seemed to catch him staring and chuckled, his t-shirt held on his arms, ready to slip over his head. "See something you like?"

Tony's gaze flicked up from temptation to his face, the soldier's eyes glinting playfully as he smirked, stretching the shirt over his head.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're built like an Adonis. We've all noticed."

Steve closed the few steps to him and slipped a hand up to cup the back of Tony's head, fingers twisting in his hair, tugging lightly, the feeling going straight to his groin.

Steve pulled him closer, tilting his head, and slanting their lips together. His tongue swiped across the line of Tony's lips, asking for entrance, which he was happy to provide. Steve's other hand slid up Tony's chest and neck, then up to cup his jaw. Tony found himself opening his mouth wider, letting Steve take the lead, letting him explore his mouth.

The soldier kissed with the same passion and determination that he applied to everything else, his movements commanding and firm, and Tony found himself handing over control.

Bucky cleared his throat, and breathlessly, they broke their kiss. Tony glanced up to meet Steve's gaze before looking to Bucky, who had a brow raised and a smirk on his face. "Thought I should remind you two to breathe." He laughed.

"Thanks, Buck." Steve let his hand fall to the back of Tony's neck, rubbing there for a moment before drifting down his back to rest on his hip. "But I think we were doing fine."

With a laugh, Bucky shifted in the bed and made room on either side of him, his back propped up against the headboard. "Well, maybe instead of hogging all the fun you two can come over here. This was supposed to be a night about us."

Tony huffed, shaking his head playfully. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. We still have plenty of time. It's not even that late."

He turned to Steve, stretching up to nip at his bottom lip, hand going around him to grab his ass. The soldier growled and moved to catch his mouth with his, but Tony drew back with a smile. "Nope. I need to change first. I'm covered in grease."

The hand Steve had on his hip slipped lower, reaching behind him and cupping his ass, tugging him closer. "You watched me. Does that mean we get a show, too? We've never seen you without a shirt before."

His words hit him like a bucket of ice water, dousing any desire that had been building, reality crashing back in. He felt himself become tense at the mere idea of them seeing his scars. His heart jumped to his throat. He knew this day would come, when they would take the next step, but he still wasn't ready for it. The fear of rejection, the shame at what he'd done, and what had been done to him. He wasn't prepared to face that.

He blinked, pulling away from Steve and taking a few steps closer to the dresser. Turning his back on the men, he put his hands on the dresser and leaned against it for support, letting his head hang as he caught his breath. He was on the verge of a panic attack. It was like he could feel every scar on his body, hyper-aware of their presence. He had to look down at his arm to make sure the sleeve was still covering him, that he wasn't unprotected.

"Tony." Steve's voice came from right behind him. "What's wrong?"

Unable to force the words out, he just shook his head. Gritting his teeth, he breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself, but it didn't work. He pushed himself back and pulled open the top drawer, digging with shaky hands through the bottles of pills, flipping them and reading their labels. He sucked in a breath when he found the Valium, fumbling with the safety lid. Everything felt like too much, and he couldn't get the damn thing open.

A hand brushed against his arm, and he jumped, nearly dropping bottle. With wild eyes, he looked to see a concerned Steve, his hand reaching for the container. "I can open it," he said. "How many do you need?"

Tony blinked at him, passing the bottle to him. He tried to wet his lips, but his mouth had gone too dry. "Two."

Steve held his gaze for a moment and then took the bottle, turning it in his fingers and reading the label. "It says to take one, so that's what I'm giving you."

If he wasn't spiraling into chaos, Tony would have taken them back and gotten them out himself, but he _was_ spiraling, and beggars couldn't be choosers, so he'd deal with only one.

Running a trembling hand through his hair, he watched Steve pop open the bottle and shake one out into his palm. Closing the container, he tossed it back in the drawer and handed him the small, white pill.

Plucking it from Steve's hand, he threw it into his mouth and chewed it quickly, face twisting at the bitter taste. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to bring it under control. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move and flinched, turning his head to see Bucky standing beside him, his eyes searching.

Unable to hold his gaze, he looked back to the drawer, pushing it closed. His hands gripped the wood of the dresser so hard that it pushed the blood from his fingertips, turning them white. He drew a stuttering breath and tried to control it as he let it out through his mouth. He knew they were waiting for an explanation, for him to say something, but he couldn't even get his own thoughts straights, let alone explain them.

Steve and Bucky seemed to understand he needed time to work things out as neither of them moved to touch him or speak. The Valium slowly began to take effect—not as well as two would have been, but it did the job. His head felt lighter, and the tightness in his chest eased. He clung to the dresser for a few more minutes until he felt steady enough to let go. Lifting his head, he glanced at Steve and then to Bucky, their faces marked with concern and unasked questions.

Not sure what to say, he turned and walked to the bed, plonking down and resting his forearms on his knees, hanging his head. He heard his boyfriends' approach, each taking a seat on either side of him, their bodies just brushing against each other.

Lifting his head, he clasped his hands together, looking over to Steve on his right. "So, yeah, that happened."

Steve's brows were pinched together, a frown touching his lips. "Did I do something to trigger you?"

He looked away, instead staring unfocused at the ridiculous poster of his Iron Man mask on the wall—something Rhodey had gifted him. He drew a breath, letting his shoulders fall as he exhaled. "Kinda—not really. I liked everything we were doing. It was good—really good."

"Then what happened?" Steve asked. "I've never seen you come undone that fast before."

He shrugged a shoulder, toying with the fabric of his left sleeve. It was the only thing standing in the way of them seeing the ugly scar from his failed suicide attempt.

Working his jaw, he tried to find the words. It wasn't like they didn't know he had scars, he'd told them before, but letting them see for themselves made him feel vulnerable in a way nothing else had.

Each told a story and held different emotions. From the line cutting its way up his arm that brought shame, to the mark on his chest where Steve's shield had driven the broken reactor into his flesh. Scars were crisscrossing his back from the whip that left traces of resentment behind—at who he was and what was done to him, then down to the smallest of them all—the crescent bite mark on his shoulder that never let him forget the forms true evil could take.

In a way, it was the smallest one that held the most emotion. It was saturated in feeling shame, but a different kind than he felt for the scar on his arm. This shame felt dirty and wrong—a feeling impossible to wash away, and he'd tried. It was a reminder of his weakest moment, of when he'd lost a piece of himself that he'd never get back.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. He crossed the room to stand in front of the poster, rubbing a hand against the scars on his chest. His anxiety was no longer threatening to drag him under, but he was far from okay.

Spinning on his heel, he looked to his boyfriends, both watching him with concern.

"Doll—" Bucky started.

Tony cut him off, shaking his head and putting up his hands. "Look, it's not you. It's me. God, I sound like such an ass saying that, but it's true."

Steve pushed himself to his feet, taking a step closer, hands out at his sides. "What's going on? Tell me we're okay—you're okay."

His eyes went wide, realizing the mixed signals he must be sending. Nodding a few times quickly, he raked a hand through his hair. He swore he could feel the scars burning hot against his skin, wanting their secrets told. He had to resist the urge to scratch at his arm.

"We're fine, I swear." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again and meeting Steve's gaze. "I just need to walk this off. Can we talk later? I need to breathe. There's not enough air in here."

Tony knew he sounded a bit unhinged, but considering how he felt, he thought he was doing pretty good.

Steve frowned and nodded slowly. "Alright. Do you want us to come with you?"

He shook his head. "I promise I won't be long—just give me a few minutes to get my head straight."

"Okay, we'll wait for you here. Take your time."

Tony slipped from the bedroom and padded through the halls toward the kitchen, socked feet sliding on the smooth floors. He rounded the corner to the kitchen and groaned internally when he saw the soft lights of the kitchen glowing warmly—someone else was up.

Sitting at the island, flipping through a magazine, was Sam. He lifted his head and raised his brows at Tony's approach. "Hey."

Tony nodded to him, making his way to the fridge and pulling out a water. He twisted off the cap and took a long pull, plastic bottle crackling. He rubbed at his temple, trying to ease the tension building behind his eyes.

He needed to get away. With a small wave in Sam's direction, he made to leave. "Catch ya later."

Sam flipped the magazine closed, straightening in his seat. "I know we're not close, but you look like someone that needs to talk."

Taking another sip of water, Tony considered his options. Stay and try to pretend he was okay or make an escape.

"I'm fine."

Sam raised a brow, his gaze seeming to cut right through his bullshit. "Maybe I'm overstepping, but I know that look. I've seen enough of it down at the VA." Resting his arms on the counter, he leaned forward. "You don't have to tell me, but something's happened to you, hasn't it?"

Tony's jaw twitched, and his shoulders tightened.

Sam nodded, seeming to see the answer in Tony's response. "Thought as much. You know if you ever need to talk, I've got some experience—maybe not in exactly what went down for you—but still. I've heard some pretty rough stories down at the center."

Tony's jaw clicked as he clenched it, pondering the situation. Something about Sam seemed to make him want to talk, and it scared him shitless.

Digging at the label of the bottle with his thumb, he cleared his throat, eyes drifting from Sam's face. "Afghanistan—I didn't leave the same way I went in, and I don't mean the reactor or the shrapnel."

He heard Sam draw a breath, and he glanced over to see him looking thoughtful. "The kind of guys that had you—I'm guessing torture was on the menu."

Tony took another gulp of water and gave a tight nod.

"And what they did, it hasn't really left you."

"Steve and Bucky—they know, mostly, but not the details. They've never seen"—he cleared his throat—"never seen the scars."

To Sam's credit, he didn't ask. He just accepted what Tony offered. "So, tonight?"

"Yeah. I wanted to show them, but I couldn't."

Sam held his gaze. "The Steve Rogers I know wouldn't judge you for what you've been through—and neither would Barnes."

Tony downed the last of the water and tossed the bottle into the recycling. He glanced at Sam before looking away. It wasn't just the scars from his torture—it was the one he'd inflicted on himself.

"Is there something else? I won't repeat anything you say. This can be between us—confidential."

Tony wasn't sure why it was so tempting to open up to Sam, but it was. He found himself wanting to talk about things he normally never would. Maybe this was progress. Pepper would be proud.

"What if all my scars weren't from there? What if they came from somewhere else?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "I don't follow. Did something else happen to you?"

Tony licked his lips. This was his chance to expand his little circle of trust—of people who knew the truth. He could back away, but he might not get the chance again.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Tony scratched at his chin, studying Sam. "Confidential?"

"Of course."

Running a hand over his face, Tony sucked in a breath. "Doing your thing, you've probably run into some different stuff."

"Yeah, man, definitely. Though I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, okay. So, let me just say it." Tony squeezed his eyes shut and spoke in a rush of words. "I am bipolar. I _have_ bipolar. However you want to say it."

There was a short stretch of silence that felt like it went on forever. Tony opened his eyes and watched Sam, who was looking thoughtful again.

"Huh," Sam said. "Well, that's cool. Thanks for telling me."

Tony blinked. "Cool? That's it?"

"Yeah, what did you expect?"

"I don't know—shock, judgement—anything other than cool."

Sam shrugged. "Don't know what to tell you, man. I'm not here to judge. So, back to your earlier question, about the scars? Now that I've got some context, you wanna talk?"

He sighed. "I went through a bad spell while you guys were in Wakanda." He rubbed at his forearm through his sleeve. "I was in a bad place."

Sam nodded a few times, eyes falling to Tony's arm before leveling his gaze on him. "You know that you have us now. You're not alone. If you ever feel that way again …"

"I know," Tony sighed. "Well, I'm trying to know. I got some good people in my corner."

"You got us all in your corner." He tipped his head. "And you don't need to be ashamed of your scars—whether from yourself or others. Scars aren't something to be ashamed of—they show you fought and survived. They're marks of strength—not weakness. Don't ever forget that."

Could he ever think of them as marks of strength? He wanted to, but they had represented so much else for so long.

His thoughts turned to Bucky and the scars he carried from his time with Hydra. There was no question what they meant—they were proof of his strength, his will to fight and survive. Tony would never judge Bucky's scars in the light he judged his own. Maybe it was time he started being kinder to himself.

With a new perspective, he thanked Sam and said goodnight, heading back to his room.

xXx

Tony's hand hovered over the doorknob to his room, fingers twitching, as he gathered himself enough to enter. Taking a steadying breath, he grabbed the handle and let himself into the room.

Stepping inside, his eyes immediately swept the room for his boyfriends. He found them both sitting on the couch by the far wall, side by side.

Steve was leaning back into the corner of the cushions, turned a little to face Bucky, and Bucky was sitting forward with his forearms resting on his knees, head hanging. Steve's hand was tucked around the inside of Bucky's thigh, thumb moving back and forth rhythmically against the cotton of his sweats. They both looked up to meet his gaze.

Pushing the door closed, he held up a hand, wiggling his fingers. "Hey."

They moved to stand, but Tony shook his head. "I think we should all be sitting for this."

He crossed the room, collapsing into the chair beside the couch. Sighing, he glanced at Steve and Bucky. Their expressions were open but a touch concerned.

"You were gone for a while, everything alright?" Steve asked.

Tony nodded quickly, his hands clasped in his lap. "Yeah, yeah."

He drew a breath, gaze falling to his hands as he began to absently pick at a hangnail on his thumb. "Sam was in the kitchen—we got talking about some things."

Bucky tilted his head, his eyes finding Tony's. "Things like work or things like what's going on with you?"

"Like me."

He tore at the small piece of skin by his nail, sending a jolt of pain through his thumb. Glancing down, he saw a small bead of blood welling from the tiny wound. He wiped it away on his jeans.

"Babe," Bucky sighed, making him look up. He sounded tired, eyes flicking between Tony's thumb and face. "Please don't do that."

"Sorry," Tony said, a little stab of guilt cutting him. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it—the sharp edges of pain acted like an anchor for him, keeping the riptide of his emotions from pulling him under.

As though it was mocking him, the small wound on his thumb continued to bleed. He hadn't meant to tear the skin so deep. Annoyed, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pressed a small spot of the fabric against the wound. The slow throb of pain helped ease his nerves, though, giving him something to focus on.

Steve shifted, so he was sitting forward more. "We don't have to talk tonight. Maybe we should just turn in, deal with whatever this is another day."

Tony glanced up at him for a second before looking back to where he held his hand. He thought over Steve's proposal. It would be easy to put this off, shelf it for another day, but he was tired of it hanging over him.

Peeling back the shirt from his thumb, he took in the drying blood gathered around his nail, feeling a bittersweet mixture of emotions. He'd be lying if he said looking at it didn't soothe something inside him, but at the same time, it came at the cost of twisted shame and guilt.

Tony pushed himself to his feet and paced the distance between the sitting area and the bed, a hand going to his head, fingers knotting in his hair.

His emotions were beginning to get the better of him again. He didn't understand why it had to be so hard, why the idea of baring himself seemed so impossible.

Frustrated with his own mind, he paused his pacing, his other hand joining the first, so they both were grasping at his hair. Growling, he let his knees fold, and he fell into a crouch, head hung with his hands laced behind it.

Someone cursed and there was a soft shuffling of fabric, but he didn't pay it any attention. His breaths were starting to stutter and become erratic. Squeezing his eyes shut, he began breaking down equations in his head, trying to distract himself.

Warm, calloused hands gently took his own. He didn't need to look to know it was Bucky. Using a firm but careful touch, his hands eased Tony's hands from his hair, bringing them together in front of him. Bucky's larger hands easily wrapped around his, holding them securely in his own as his thumbs rubbed soothingly against Tony's skin.

It felt good—the touch grounding him in a way that even pain couldn't. The tightness in his chest eased, and he was able to draw a deeper breath.

Opening his eyes, he was met with Bucky's soft yet worried ones. The man was crouched in front of him, head ducked so he could make eye contact with Tony, his hair falling around his face.

Tony sucked in another breath, letting it out slowly.

Bucky smiled, and keeping Tony's hands held in one hand, he reached up with his free hand and brushed it over Tony's cheek. "That's it, doll. Few more easy breaths like that."

Tony did as he said, making his lungs expand and contract as evenly as he could.

Bucky kept his hands on him, grounding him with his touch.

His knees began to protest, though, and he had to move.

"Can you help me up?" His voice was a little raspy, and he coughed to clear it.

Bucky nodded, adjusting his grip on Tony's hands, standing and pulling him to his feet with him.

Tony's knees popped and clicked as he stood, his legs tingling as the circulation returned. God, he felt old.

"What can we do, Tony?" Steve asked, making Tony take notice of him. He was standing beside Bucky, brows pinched together, his mouth wearing the slightest hint of a frown.

With a quick look between them, Tony bit at the inside of his cheek. "I want to show you something—both of you, but I'll be honest, doing it scares the shit out of me."

Bucky's brow wrinkled. "Hey, you don't need to be scared around us. Nothing you could show us would change anything."

"I have a feeling what this is about and Buck's right," Steve said. "You don't need to show us if you're not ready."

Tony blinked, looking at Steve in surprise. "You know?"

"If it's about your scars, then yeah. I put it together after you left."

"Oh," Tony said, hand going to rub at his arm. "Yeah, I kinda freaked out, huh?"

"Like I said, Tony, you don't need to show us anything. If you always want to wear a shirt around us, that's fine. I should have thought before I said anything."

Bucky stepped closer, reaching out and pressing his palm against the side of Tony's neck, thumb moving against the line of his jaw. "Babe, I think you know that nothing would ever change how I feel about you. You don't need to do a thing."

Tony reached up and touched the hand on his neck. "Thanks, Buck, but I think it's time I stopped hiding."

"Okay," Bucky said, nodding.

Taking a step back, Bucky's hand fell, and Tony took a breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

Grabbing the cuff of his right sleeve, he pulled his arm through and then grabbed the bottom of the shirt, tugging it over his head and off his other arm.

He tossed the shirt to the floor beside him and let out the breath he was holding.

Lifting his head, he let his left arm fall to his side, hand held in a loose fist. He turned it, so the scar that ran up the underside was exposed.

A tremor was spreading its way through his body as he stood more naked than he'd ever been. His hands twitched, and he licked his lips, eyes fixed on his boyfriends, awaiting their reactions—their judgment.

A few beats past and the only sounds were the quiet breaths of the three of them. Steve and Bucky held their gaze on Tony's face like they were seeking permission. He gave a slow, hesitant nod, his jaw tightening. For a few moments, no one moved, then the other men's eyes began trailing a path downward.

Steve's eyes seemed to catch on the scars of his chest, his mouth twitching at the sight. Tony had to resist the urge to reach up and cover them—wanting to protect Steve from the pain of the past.

Bucky's eyes swept past the scars that held Steve's and settled on the one tracing up his arm. He studied it for a moment before returning his gaze to his face. "Doesn't change a thing, doll—still love you just the same."

And then Bucky was closing the distance between them. Reaching up, he took Tony's face between his hands and then pressed his lips to his forehead.

Despite how hard he was trying to hold himself together, his breath still caught, and he squeezed his eyes shut, a shiver spreading through him.

Bucky's hands slipped from Tony's face, falling to rest on his bare shoulders. "You're so perfect, so brave, doll."

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist as a tear rolled down his cheek. He tucked his head in the crook of Bucky's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his body wash.

Bucky's hands slid from his shoulders and down his back. Tony wondered if he could feel the faint edges of the scars there etching his skin.

He jumped when suddenly another set of hands were on him, feather-light fingertips tracing over his back, following each line that crossed his skin. His heart skipped a beat, and he struggled to pull in a breath, pressing his forehead further into Bucky's neck.

Steve's fingers trailed up toward his shoulder, and then he heard the soldier's breath catch. He didn't need to ask to know what it was that gave him pause—the small crescent scar was unmistakable.

Tony's muscles tensed and a fresh wave of shame washed over him, settling like a stone in his stomach. He thought he was ready, but he didn't want Steve to see it—didn't want him to touch it. He was too pure to touch something so wrong, so dirty.

Steve let his hands slide down his back and sides until they were resting on his hips. Giving them a gentle squeeze, he stepped closer, so his chest was brushing against Tony's back.

"You're so strong," Steve said.

And then something happened that made his heart slam unevenly in his chest, and his breath escape him: a pair of soft lips were pressed against the small scar his rapist had left behind.

His emotions collided like a storm front inside him, shaking him to his core. No one should want to touch him after what had happened to him.

Tony shook his head, feeling himself beginning to panic, the safety of their arms now feeling more like a prison.

Bucky pressed a kiss to his hair, whispering reassurances in his ear. "Just keep breathing. You're so perfect and beautiful, baby. You gotta know that."

Steve lifted his lips from the scar, giving Tony's hips a squeeze. "Are you okay?"

Knotting his fingers in Bucky's shirt, Tony lifted his head and gave a quick nod.

"You don't seem it, babe," said Bucky.

"It's just a lot." He took a stuttering breath, putting his head back on Bucky's shoulder. "You don't need to pretend they don't bother you."

"What?" Steve's grip tightened on his hips. "Tony, none of them bother me, and I'm sure they don't bother Bucky either."

Bucky pulled back enough that Tony had to lift his head. Bucky caught his eye, face serious. "I love every part of you—scars and all. Just like I hope you do me. Even though they were born from pain, it doesn't mean they're ugly."

Tony drew a breath. "I can't ever forget, though. Every time I see them, I remember it all."

Steve slid his hands up to hold his waist. "Then we'll just have to give you new memories, better ones."

And then Steve's lips brushed against the bite scar again, and this time, something warm began to blossom in his chest, replacing the echoes of shame.

Closing his eyes, he wept.


End file.
